


Heart of Steel

by paladin_danse



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Asthma, Asthma Attacks, Ayyeee, Betrayal, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Chloroform, Detective!Charles, Drinking, Film Noir, I Blame Tumblr, Kidnapping, M/M, Mob Boss!Erik, Organized Crime, Shooting, Suicide contemplation, Y i k e s, but just to be safe, charles falls in love easy, cop stuff, hospital visits, idk this is cara's fault, it's not so much non-con as it is dub-con, mafia, mafia!au, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7928767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladin_danse/pseuds/paladin_danse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier is a detective in the 1940's who finds himself caught between seeking revenge for the love he lost and finding something to replace the hole it left behind in his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Another day, another homicide. The detective in the long black coat released a sigh as he gazed down over the bodies of the man and woman who lay in puddles of their own blood. The sounds of camera shutters went off here and there, flashes of blinding light irritating his eyesight as he examined the dimly-lit room littered with evidence markers.

Evidence pointed to it being a double suicide, but he was sure that wasn't the case. These people wanted to live; otherwise, they never would've approached the police in the first place for protection in exchange for information. Sure, there'd been a touching note about how they couldn't bear the paranoia anymore, but Charles knew better. The husband and wife that lay on the floor with their lifeless eyes reflecting back at him were witnesses in a case against one of the powerful members of the Brotherhood, an organized crime unit with a reputation for its merciless members and their knack for breaking the law and getting away with it.

He was so close... _so close_ to catching those bastards, and they slipped through his fingers like sand once more. He had to admit, they were good at covering their tracks. Charles was almost impressed with how well-done this was, but no amount of tampering would convince him this wasn't a Brotherhood murder.

Charles could feel his lungs becoming irritated as he glanced around, gaze landing on the drapes flowing in the breeze of the partially cracked window. He approached, taking note that it was the window beside the fire escape, and set an evidence marker next to it. "Alright... Let's get 'em bagged," Charles announced as he reached into his pocket. With a few quick shakes, his inhaler was used before he replaced it within his jacket.

"So, are we still believing the double suicide story?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Charles glanced over his shoulder and offered a half-hearted smile at Raven as she approached. "Every time," he replied.

She came to a stop next to him as she stared down at the bodies with her hands on her hips. "Those poor saps... Thinking they were safe."

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips before he could stop himself. "They _should_ be safe," Charles replied, shaking his head as he turned away to head out the door and down the stairs of the apartment building. "If this hits the papers, what do you think the press is gonna say? We can't even protect people that need it the most. How do they expect us to protect anyone at all?"

"Charles, I don't think you should worry this much," Raven began as she followed him down. "I know it's frustrating, but we're getting closer to catching these guys. You've gotta admit we're keeping 'em on their toes, which means they're starting to get scared."

"Those people up there are dead," Charles replied as he stopped in his tracks, turning to meet her gaze with an intense glare, "and we couldn't do anything to save them. Does that mean anything to you?" Raven sighed, her mouth twisting as she tried to think of something clever to say. Charles didn't give her a chance, instead turning away and continuing down the stairs. "I'll write up the report tonight," he muttered.

"No, I'll take care of the paperwork," she replied quickly, grabbing him by the shoulder to stop him. "Come to Suzy's with me. We'll get your mind off of this with a nice hot meal."

"I don't have an appetite," Charles mumbled.

"Then just get some coffee." Her eyebrows lifted in anticipation as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Come on, Charles. You'll be up all night anyway."

With a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. "Fine. As long as you're buying."

"Hah! When do I not buy?"

The comment stung more than she'd meant it to, but Charles knew she meant it all in good fun. "If we solve this case, I'll buy us both a steak dinner."

"That sounds great," Raven replied as they neared the bottom of the staircase. "With steamed asparagus and mashed potatoes! My stomach is growling just thinking about it." Charles gave a faint laugh.

Stepping into the night air began irritating his breathing, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been upstairs. His inhaler had soothed the rough breathing beginning to take place, though it still bothered him enough to cough a bit.

"You alright?" she asked, a hand set against his back as Raven watched on in concern.

"I'm fine," Charles strained to reply, coughing once more. "I'll be fine."

"If we hurry, we can make it in five minutes," Raven offered.

Charles nodded as he coughed, and they picked up the pace together down the moist, puddle-addled asphalt. The bright neon light was visible just up ahead, the large green arrow flickering slightly as the letters of Suzy's blinked in a consecutive pattern.

Charles smiled faintly, recalling the many fond memories he had of the diner. Most of them were with Raven, since she'd been with him when he discovered it. They were a small hole-in-the-wall place but had decent prices for some pretty good meals. Charles' stomach growled, but thankfully it was covered up by Raven's laughing as they entered and seated themselves in the otherwise empty diner.

Raven was quick to request a fudge sundae, but despite much protest from Raven, all that Charles ordered was some black coffee. Somehow within a span of just a few minutes, the conversation went very quickly from paperwork to puppy love.

"I just don't understand him sometimes, you know? Like, one second he's really interested in a relationship and then the next he's 'just not sure it's what he should do right now.'" Raven spooned out another bite from the sundae.

Charles' hands were warmed by the mug he stared down at while listening to her. If he didn't keep his eyes on the coffee, they would go straight to that sundae, and she'd catch on how hungry he really was. Raven was very perceptive, and Charles didn't want her paying for any more of his food. He owed her enough money as it was. "Why don't you just ask him what's holding him back?"

"It's not that simple," Raven replied softly, offering him a bite that he refused with a small wave of his hand.

"Why not? If you want to be with someone, you should be with them." His eyes went distant for a moment before Charles met her gaze. "What does he have to be afraid of?"

Raven's mouth twisted slightly. "To be fair, being an officer's spouse or significant other ain't exactly an easy job... which I've been meaning to ask—when are you gonna get yourself a nice girl and settle down?" Charles gave a scoff of a laugh, though he was not amused. "I'm serious. You've been at this for so long, Charles. Don't you think it's time to move on from the Brotherhood and do something else with your life?"

"That's all I have to _do_ with my life," he replied as he reached into his pocket. Charles shook the inhaler, made use of it, and tucked it back in.

"It doesn't have to be," she replied, forcing a smile at him.

Charles chuckled once more, though there was no humor in the empty breath. "Thanks for the coffee," he began as he scooted out of the booth. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a quarter and set it on the table. "That should cover part of it."

"Charles," Raven called, but he didn't stop. After a few seconds of his continued silence, she called out, "You can't grieve about Moira forever."

Charles stopped in his tracks as the weight of a ton of bricks felt as though it had collapsed on top of the heart hammering in his chest. The reminder was nearly enough to bring him to tears as he swallowed thickly, and he hated Raven for having such strong control over his emotions. "Like hell I can't," he muttered as he headed out the door and into the cool dark of the night.

A few blocks down the road, he stopped to inhale a few deep, trembling breaths and calm his racing heart and burning eyes. (Of course, not without a few coughs.) It'd been two years, and still the wound felt fresh. Every time she mentioned Moira's name, it felt like she tore open a delicate scab. His hands rubbed at his face anxiously a moment before he continued on is way home.

The distance from Suzy's to Charles' apartment building shouldn't have taken more than a half hour or so, but he took plenty of detours and walked with a slow pace. Was he trying to get mugged? Perhaps—just so he'd have an excuse to take out his pain and rage on someone, anyone. But alas, even as he passed several others out in the night, there was no knife or gun held in his direction. He nearly found himself disappointed as he entered the building with a squeak of the door.

The entryway was small and the stairway narrow, the squeaking of the stairs familiar as he scaled upwards to his own door. With a sigh, he dug at his keys while his other hand was busy rubbing at his eye. He was tired but it was the same kind of tired that had plagued him since Moira's death—the tired that could never be sated. He probably wouldn't sleep tonight unless he got knackered, which was his plan anyway. It was a norm for him now to throw a few back in order to get himself to sleep. It may have been the only way he could actually sleep now, if he were being honest with himself.

The door swung open, and Charles breathed another sigh as he stepped inside the lonely apartment, locking the door behind himself. It was small with distasteful wallpaper that Charles had never bothered to replace or remove. He wasn't there long enough to care enough about it. His apartment was usually reserved for sleeping and sometimes making himself a meal. That was really it. He had furniture that filled the place like a couch and a love seat, a TV, a nice liquor cabinet, even some nice dishes, but it didn't really feel like a home to him. It was just where he slept.

The liquor cabinet was his first destination, and Charles was quick to pick out the rum with a crystal glass to pour it into. He tossed in some ice cubes from the freezer in the kitchen and made his way back to the couch with a soda can to mix with it. Charles took a drink of the rough liquid and groaned softly, wiping his mouth. The first drink was always the hardest.

Before him on the coffee table sat a black and white picture whose frame was well-worn from being held and touched often. It was a picture of Charles and a young woman with bright eyes and dark hair, and a contagious smile. He felt the corner of his lip turning upward like it always did when he first looked at the photograph. But like always, the regret and the depression were quick to replace his fond memories. How could he have let it happen to her? Charles could have saved her. He knew he could have, and yet there he sat, alone, while Moira rotted in her grave across the city in the cemetery. There was nothing he could do to bring her back, and Charles could imagine no worse pain than the one that caused his heart to ache.

He knocked back the rest of the drink, nearly unable to swallow it before he began to cough raggedly, prompting him to use his inhaler once more. It cleared his throat and airway somewhat, but the burning sensation still remained as he leaned back onto the couch with another drink—this time only pure rum. He wasn't going to get drunk very quickly if he mixed every drink.

"This isn't how I planned to spend my nights, you know," he mumbled to the woman in the picture before him. "We should be out dancing and going to fancy restaurants and sleeping beside each other when we stumble on home." He glanced down, becoming lost in his thoughts. He should be caressing her skin, kissing her shoulder, making love to her... but he couldn't, and it was all because of that bastard Lehnsherr. Charles' eyes darted to the side at a case file that sat open with its contents scattered across the dining room table, which included mugshots and crime scene reports, all with possible connections to that scumbag whose mugshot sat right atop the pile with a cocky smirk on his face. After slamming the rest of his drink once more, Charles threw the glass, and it shattered easily against the wall.

He sat glaring at the pictures and papers a moment before dropping his head into his hands in the silence that hummed in his ears. Charles' eyebrow furled, and his lip began to quiver as he tried to keep himself from crying... but like always, he shouldn't have even bothered to fight it. The tears made their way from the corners of his eyes as his shoulders trembled, despite how many times he wiped them away angrily.

It wasn't fair. None of this was. Erik lived a life of wrongdoing and crime and sat on the throne of his empire, and Charles sat here on a couch, alone and hurt without the love of his life despite his best attempts to be the "good guy." And it was all because of _that bastard_.

"I'll get him, Moira," he whispered as he picked up the picture of the smiling young woman, sniffling softly. "I promise." 


	2. Chapter 2

The sounds of the office did little to help with the familiar headache that throbbed in his temples. Charles offered friendly smiles to those who passed by him and gave a few morning greetings as well. The station was busy as always, detectives either missing from their desks or typing furiously to fill out their report forms.

A soft sigh heaved from him as he removed his blazer and sat down at his desk to a folder with a note on it. _LOCKE_ , it read in capital letters scrawled in Raven's handwriting. Ahh, the double suicide. He had to admit, he was impressed she'd typed it up already. Usually it took her a few weeks to finish a report but she had managed to finish it in only a matter of days.

Despite the fate of the previous witnesses, they had been lucky enough to secure another who claimed he wanted to leave the Brotherhood but couldn't do it without help. He was willing to give up one of the members in exchange for protection but as of yet would not say who. This time, instead of placing him in a secure apartment, Charles and Raven thought it best to keep him in the cells. Armando Muñoz, or 'Darwin' as he was otherwise known to the Brotherhood members. He was a smart kid with some serious social skills. Charles hoped this hadn't been one of the Brotherhood's hoaxes, but at least they had a lead on  _something_. If they could just keep him alive long enough to get his confession and bring him to court, they still had a chance at chipping away into the ranks of the infamous mob.

Charles' fingers flipped the page open, and he began to read the description within when another folder was dropped down on top of Charles' desk. The _thwack_ caused a small ache to begin in his temples again as Charles looked up to Logan leaning onto his desk with a proud smirk on his face. "We got 'im," he announced, pointing to the case file. "We finally got the bastard."

"Who?" Charles asked aloud as he reached towards the folder.

It opened up on the mugshot of a face that Charles knew well as Logan hissed triumphantly, "Victor Creed."

"Sabertooth?" Charles asked, glancing back up at Logan.

Charles found himself disappointed that Logan hadn't meant Lehnsherr, but that didn't mean he wasn't impressed or even excited. Victor, known as "Sabertooth" to his mob family, was one of the close confidants of Erik Lehnsherr. He had a reputation as the most vicious of their members. Charles had no doubt that most of the most gruesome unsolved murders gathering dust had been done by him. If they could crack Victor even the slightest and get him to talk about the Brotherhood, they could bring the whole operation to its knees—and there was nothing that Charles wanted to see more than that.

"Is this the file for the murder in that factory off 73rd?"

"You're damn right," Logan replied, flipping through some of the papers until he came across the log of the crime scene. "The blood, the finger prints, Muñoz's eyewitness—it's all right there. We've got a positive ID for Victor Creed on murder charges."

A smile spread across Charles' face as he felt a giddiness begin to build up within his chest. "I can't believe it," he whispered as he stared down in awe before his eyes flickered up to Logan.

"Well, what are we doing just sitting here?" he demanded in his stern voice.

Charles stood from the desk, grabbing the blazer from the back of his chair as he adjusted his suspenders. "Have you seen Raven?" he asked, sliding on the jacket.

"Do I look like a babysitter to you?" Logan called over his shoulder, despite heading off to go find her.

Rarely was Logan ever in such a good mood or even seen with a smile on his face. If only Charles were so lucky to know what that felt like. The arrest may yet lead to him knowing, and this whole instance had rekindled the flicker of hope within him, but Charles wasn't going to hold his breath.

Charles holstered his gun and patted his pocket to check for the inhaler on his way out the door. His fingers were shaking when he pulled the keys from his pocket to unlock the door and climb into the car.

One step closer to destroying Erik Lehnsher's life, just like he destroyed Charles Xavier's.

  
  


It didn't take long to find and detain him. Victor was known for frequenting a gentleman's club owned and managed indirectly by the Brotherhood, and that was just where they found him. He was bigger in person than Charles thought, even bigger than Logan. He could have mowed all of them down easily if he'd wanted to, but he came without much of a fuss, more than likely thinking that he would be off the hook in no time. Not if Charles had anything to say about it.

He looked so smug, sitting there in the silence of the other side of the transparent mirror. The mischievous glint in his eyes told Charles that he knew he was being watched. There was a tiny smirk on his lips as he waited patiently for the interrogation they all knew was about to begin, but Logan didn't seem ready. Charles glanced over to him as he rifled through the file folder that lay in front of him before he turned to lock eyes with Raven, and they both gave a small shrug. Charles had to admit, he was nervous himself. One mistake, and Victor was gone—as was their chance of crushing the Brotherhood.

Finally, after what seemed like just mindless shuffling of papers, Logan closed the file on the desk. "Hit it," he muttered, gesturing to the tape recorder with his fingers as he exited the room. Raven pressed the **RECORD** button, and Logan entered the interrogation room.

Immediately there was such an intensity between them that Charles felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. Victor, with his proud little smirk and Logan with his vicious glare. Charles and Raven watched on eagerly. He stood there with an arm folded across his chest as the other hand tapped against his chin in anxiousness while she leaned against the desk from her seat. Some crude remarks were exchanged between Logan and his convict. Victor even made a mention of a woman's name, which earned him a punch right across the jaw.

"Was that his wife?" Charles uttered quietly, as if Victor might hear him.

Raven didn't look phased as she gave a grim nod. "Victor murdered her," she whispered, her eyes never leaving the two men in the room. "He was never caught, but we all know it's the truth."

The scene before them made much more sense now as he looked between them. Charles knew Logan had lost his wife, but he never knew how until now. The revelation suddenly made this interrogation all the more vital to their case.

After what seemed an eternity of grilling the Brotherhood member, Victor gave few answers and, despite Logan's best efforts, seemed to have no detail out of place in his alibi even when questioned in backwards techniques. Morale was wearing thin until Logan finally gave the signal with his fingers that he was done. He pushed himself away from the table and made his way to exit the room when suddenly Victor said something that caught them all completely off guard.

"I didn't have to do it, you know." It stopped Logan in his tracks, his hand placed upon the handle of the door. A wave of goosebumps traveled over Charles' skin as he watched on. "You didn't have to walk away from us."

Logan's hand tightened so hard on the knob that his knuckles turned white. Charles swallowed hard as he tensed, unsure of what to expect. "I did what was best for my family," he hissed.

"It doesn't look that way to me," Victor replied with a sick smile. "With your futile attempt to leave us behind, all you did was sentence them to death..." He paused for a long moment before he leaned forward under the light, causing long, menacing shadows to form on his face. "... _Brother_."

Before either Charles or Raven could react, Logan dove across the room with a shout of rage, clawing and punching however he could to hurt Victor. The two of them scrambled out of the observation room and, with much difficulty, pried Logan off of him. He spat in Victor's direction, who laughed sadistically with bloodied teeth. With some help from other officers, they hauled Logan out of the room as he screamed, "You're no _brother_ , you fuck! You're _no brother_ of mine!"

After a difficult struggle involving at least 4 other officers occurred, it finally ended with Logan in a holding cell. He paced the small area like a wild animal, screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Raven asked, peeking in from the conjoined room.

Charles shrugged as he shut the door to the cell room he'd just stepped out of. "I honestly have no idea what that was about... but I think it's best he stays there for a while to help cool him off."

Raven nodded, looking quite visibly shaken. "I've never seen him act like that," she whispered as Charles lifted an arm to put around her shoulders.

"I haven't either..." In an attempt to comfort Raven, he squeezed her softly and piped up, "I'm sure everything will be fine soon enough.

  
  


The day's events did little to help with Charles' insomnia. Upon arriving home, he'd foregone the alcohol in favor of staying awake to think with a clear head. That, and he was running low on drinks, and Charles wouldn't be able to fill up until he was paid next, which wasn't for another week.

Victor's interview... It was strange. He was meticulous, down to the details of where he'd been, who he was with and what he was doing the night of the murder, yet they had cold, hard evidence that he was guilty of the crime. It seemed... practiced, as if he knew he would be interrogated. Did he want to be arrested? If so, why? Then there was the matter of Victor's ending remarks... Leave them behind? Did that mean Logan had been a member of the Brotherhood? Did he still have connections there if it was true? Why had he never mentioned it? The questions plagued Charles well into the night as he lay in bed, tossing and turning.

For the first time in quite some time as he lay there in thought, Charles began to feel tired. Not the kind of tired to lay in bed all night without so much as a wink of sleep. It was the kind of tired that was beginning to cause his eyelids to become heavy. He was actually quite grateful for the sleepiness that had begun to overtake him until a sound came that startled him fully awake.

The blare of the fire alarm was an unpleasant sound. Charles cared little for it to begin with, but now he hated it even more for denying him the sleep he so desperately had been fighting for. With a frustrated groan, he flipped the covers off of himself and began to dress quickly. The gun from his nightstand was tucked into his trousers and he grabbed his inhaler to tuck it into his pocket before he hurried off to make sure that all of the residents were awake and evacuating the building.

There was so much commotion outside, lots of screaming and hurrying as he worked his way through the halls, knocking on doors and making sure they were safe. After a quick sweep of each of the floors, Charles finally exited the building and looked up in search of the fire that had set off the alarm with the rest of the tenants.

As he looked over the building, he found no smoke escaping from anywhere, and there were no flickers of glowing amber in any of the windows. Come to think of it, Charles hadn't smelled any hints of smoke in the building as he'd made his way down to the ground floor. Had it been a false alarm? A tiny kitchen fire that had been taken care of? They would have to wait for the fire engine to get there to find out anyway, so Charles stepped away to take a seat on the curb.

As he sat, a voice called to him that he did not recognize. "Detective Xavier?"

Charles turned just in time to see a dark figure step from the shadows and envelope him in their arms, hoisting him upwards as he immediately fought against the embrace. As he inhaled a breath to scream, a cloth was placed against his mouth. He knew that scent. He'd come up against it in cases before. Charles' last thought was him cursing himself for falling for the dirty chloroform trick as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell limp in his captor's arms.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There was a low humming noise in the back of his mind. It was familiar, however distorted it was at the moment. It was... talking. Conversation. More than one person chatting casually. The sound was becoming clearer now. Three people? No, four? He couldn't see, which meant either the room was pitch black or—judging by the warmth he could feel of his own breath—there was some sort of bag over his head. He'd wanted to make them believe he was still unconscious and listen to the hushed conversation that was happening, but he couldn't help the groan that slipped through his lips from the burning in his throat.

The bag was ripped off of his head (along with a small chunk of his hair grabbed with it) to reveal a very bright light, which elicited another groan. It was a single light bulb hanging in the middle of an otherwise dark room, but his eyesight was blurry and unadjusted which allowed for him to see very little at the moment.

Charles was sitting at a table and judging by the setup that his temporarily disabled eyesight allowed him to take in, he was the center of attention. He thought it might be a small warehouse or something of the like, but other than the table and few chairs, it was completely empty. Blinking rapidly, he tried to adjust his suddenly aching eyes as his head shook in an attempt to clear his foggy mind. The intensity of the light was causing his head to throb. Good lord, it was like a hangover but ten times worse—especially the nausea.

"Good morning, Charles," a calm voice lulled across the small space.

Charles' eyes lifted, focusing on the face of the man directly across the table from him. A rush of surprise constricted his entire chest momentarily, goosebumps waving across his skin as he stared into the quite smug smirk of none other than Erik Lehnsherr. He looked different in person somehow... Charles couldn't quite put his finger on it. As much as he loathed the man, he had to admit Lehnsherr was fairly handsome. Perhaps he just couldn't tell before because he'd been staring at a mug shot of him for so long. The mob boss was leaned back into his more comfortable chair, looking rather pleased with himself as he gazed across the table at the detective. His hand rested leisurely on a cane at his side.

"I hope you aren't feeling too unwell. Apologies about the chloroform. It's not as if you'd stroll by for lunch or something."

There were scattered chuckles from the men hovering like vultures around them, eyeing him with sharp eyes as his own eyes narrowed. Charles was barely aware enough now to count four others... and maybe a fifth one standing behind him, but he couldn't tell if those were just echoes of shuffling feet from the others around him.

Trying to clear his throat of the burning tickle, Charles found it difficult to speak. When he strained to say something, he was sent into a coughing fit, and suddenly it was getting harder and harder to breathe as he wheezed. The panic was beginning to set in when it dawned on him that his hands were bound behind him, and he could not reach the inhaler just inside his trousers pocket.

Lehnsherr looked unphased as he watched the fear begin to clutch at Charles' throat, tighter and tighter. The idea that he might be allowed to suffocate before Erik Lehnsherr drove him nearly mad as he fought harder to breathe. The bastard was waiting for him to beg but he wouldn't give in... That is, until he felt the very real alarm that he may very well die if he did not do what Lehnsher wanted. "P... Ple..." His heart was pounding against his chest and in his ears. It was all he could hear as he struggled against the cursed nature of his body. Damnit... No! He couldn't!

"I'm sorry..." Lehnsherr leaned forward in his chair as he put a hand to his ear, a smirk tugging further at the corner of his lip. "I can't quite hear you."

The pride in him nearly stopped him from beginning to say it again but, damnit, he needed to live if he was going to exact his revenge. _For Moira_ , he thought as his eyes clenched shut. " _Please_ ," Charles wheezed, feeling the darkness beginning to creep up into his mind. He was going to faint if he didn't get oxygen in him, and _soon_.

A hand belonging to one of the nearby henchmen delved into his pocket, and the time it took for him to lift the inhaler to Charles' mouth felt like an eternity as he watched on. Finally, after a few agonizing seconds, he was allowed a breath from his inhaler. Immediately Charles felt relief wash over him as the air returned to his opened lungs once more. That bastard... He was going to pay. He was going to pay for this humiliation and for the years of pain he had caused Charles.

"It's come to my attention that our little _family_ has begun to draw the wrong kind of attention," Erik began as he pushed himself out of his seat. "I hear you've taken quite an interest in us, detective." Charles' eyes never left him as he circled around the table with a hand running across the surface of the wood. "I don't know about you, but I've an inkling that the friends we deal with don't like police meddling in their affairs, and when you have a nosy detective doing just that, it can be... well, bad for business." His movements reminded Charles of a shark, cutting through the water with smooth, deliberate movements. Yet his elegant appearance would never change what he was: an animal that feasts on the pain of others. "So what am I to do about something hurting my business, Detective Xavier?" He stopped just next to Charles, sitting partly on the table with his weight rested against the cane before him.

He was _so fucking close_. If Charles wasn't bound to the chair, he would lean forward in an attempt to rip his throat out with his own teeth. The hate had never been so intense within him, but then again, Charles had never met the man in person that had ruined his life.

Lehnsherr was expecting to make some kind of deal with Charles. He knew how these games went. He would threaten Charles into doing what he wanted, but he was not going to be played. Charles met his gaze with a hateful glare and hissed in a poisonous whisper, "Fuck you."

Erik's lips pursed momentarily, and Charles suddenly cried out in surprise more than pain when a hand was smacked across his cheek rather hard. "I'm not sure that's how business partners are supposed to talk to each other, detective. I think you should try again."

Charles spat the blood out of his mouth that had accumulated from his inner split lip. Before he could speak another word, Lehnsherr interrupted him.

"I've had my eye on that pretty little blonde partner of yours for some time now, you know." Charles paused, showing no reaction to the photos that were slid across the table before him, but dread began to fill the pit of his stomach as he stared down at the photograph of him and Raven walking together, completely oblivious that they were being watched. Another photo of them followed, and another and another—each with different clothes from different days. "Would be a shame if something were to... _happen_ to her."

Of course they'd done their research. Charles wondered how long the Brotherhood had been watching the two of them. How long had they known where he lived? Had they entered his apartment before? How long had they had these photographs? Who was giving them information? They had to have a mole in the department. They had to. It was the only place they could get this kind of information. It couldn't be Logan... could it...?

The sense of security was beginning to diminish from his life all too quickly for his liking, like the small flame of a candlestick being blown out with a small, simple breath.

Charles swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact as he sat in silence. "What do you want?" he managed through his hoarse, burning throat as his eyes lifted to meet Lehnsherr's. The chloroform had certainly done a number on him.

"A partnership, of sorts," Lehnsherr replied, the smirk widening on his face into a chilling smile.

Damnit. He knew Charles had broken.

"You work for me now. Anything ever regarding the Brotherhood that comes across your desk, you would do well to alter those files or otherwise do your best keep our members out of the slammer and the court room. You will conduct investigations for us now and report any information you find to _me_. Is that understood?" Charles gave a faint turn of his head in response but said nothing. Lehnsherr must have taken this as the confirmation he wanted, as he nodded his head, quite pleased. "This doesn't go without payment, of course. You'll receive your money in a timely manner. I may even be willing to give you a front on this one so you can pay that late rent of yours. We're not criminals here, after all." He and the men around him laughed as if it were some sort of inside joke, but Charles was not amused. "I understand we've had our disagreements in the past—what, with Moira and all... A shame, really. She was _very_ beautiful—"

"Don't you _dare_ speak her name!" Charles shouted, however hoarse his voice may have been. He spat in Erik's direction, clenching his teeth as he fought against his restraints once more.

Lehnsherr looked pleased, like he'd drawn the reaction he had hoped for. "Oh, Charles, _Charles_..." The man in the sleek black pinstriped suit perched next to him on the table once more with a smirk upon his lips.

His hand made an attempt to gently lift Charles' chin, and upon contact, there was a sharp almost sort of electricity where his fingers touched the skin. It surprised Charles but he jerked backwards from Lehnsherr's grasp with a yell. "Keep your fuckin' hands off me!"

The same hand grabbed him again upon the jaw, much harder this time as Lehnsherr's expression turned stone cold, the playful smirk gone from his face. This... this face was one he had never seen before, and it caused chills to run down Charles' spine. The fear within his heart became very real before his eyes as they widened slightly. "Listen to me very carefully, Charles Xavier. Your life... and all of your friends' lives are in the palm of my hand." He shoved Charles backwards, who was relieved to be free of his touch despite his aching jaw. "One wrong move... and I won't hesitate to make your pathetic life even more miserable than it already is."

"Oh, just do it, then!" Charles shouted at him. "Just do it! Put a gun to my fuckin' head and end it right now if all you're gonna do is threaten me. Nothing you can do to me would be worse than what you've already done, you fucking _hack_."

The small smile returned to Lehsnherr's face once more as he gave a small laugh. "I never said I would hurt _you_." There was a long pause as Charles tilted his head. "You think you have nothing to lose, Charles Xavier, but I'm here to tell you that you have plenty. There are things in your life you _are_ afraid to lose. Your lovely partner, that old friend of ours down at the precinct... You have friends, and their lives matter to you. If you care about them at all, you'll do as I say—" He paused a moment to add to the suspense. "—or you will suffer their deaths the same way you suffer Moira's. Have I made myself clear?"

 _Fuck_. He could see no way out of this. He had to double-time for Erik Lehnsherr, or the friends he loved dearly were going to be in serious danger. Charles swallowed hard. There was no easy fix solution to this problem—other than a bullet in his own brain to keep his friends safe.

Charles had sworn he would never go dirty. Not ever. He'd seen it happen before. Dirty cops were all rat bastards. They'd sworn to uphold the law and broke that solemn vow for the sake of money, and it almost always got them killed or jailed. Charles wanted to tell Erik to do his worst, but his aching heart could not, in good conscience, allow himself to say it. His eyes drifted downward to the photos of Raven, and his heart clenched within his chest. He had to keep her safe from the dangers she knew nothing about. She was a very capable woman, no doubt. Charles had seen her in more than one fight, and her skills were nothing short of impressive, especially for a woman in heels. But he had no idea how many Brotherhood members there were or what they would do to her or Logan should he step out of line. He didn't even want to think about it...

"Alright," he whispered with a trembling lip. "I'll do as you ask." He was going to find a way out of this. He had to. He was not going to bend the knee to Erik Lehnsherr without some serious repercussions and problems in the future.

"Good!" Lehnsherr replied, the smirk widening upon his lips. "I'm glad we understand each other."

There was a tense moment as they locked eyes in silence, and it stirred an unfamiliar feeling within Charles as he stared into the steel blue eyes reflecting back at him. It must have been a side effect of the chloroform... But the feeling strengthened as Lehnsherr's eyes wandered slowly down Charles' body like he were a piece of meat as he licked his lips, causing the detective to shift uncomfortably.

"Oh, and in case you feel like telling anyone of what's happened here tonight... Don't." Lehnsherr pushed off the table, his hand trailing with the lightest touch across Charles' chest, with a tiny brush across the hair on his neck and over his shoulders as he disappeared into the darkness. "We have ears and eyes everywhere, Xavier." Lehnsherr's touch left Charles breathless momentarily in a very confusing way that he did not much understand or like. "We'll be in touch," Lehnsherr's soft voice called, but when Charles turned to watch him go, he was met yet again with a cloth of chloroform. The sharp inhale of surprise caused him to breathe in the sickly-smelling substance, and he cursed himself once more as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

 


	4. Chapter 4

His eyes cracked open slowly to the light of the morning sun shining through his window, blurry dust particles floating in the air. Charles' eyebrows furled, trying to remember why his mouth was so dry and sore when the memories of the previous night came rushing back to him. His lip curled in disgusted as he turned over in his bed and groaned, a hand lifting to press to his throbbing forehead while the other pulled the covers over himself. Lord, he felt sick...

The nausea hit him harder than he expected as he turned over, and Charles immediately threw the covers off himself. He rolled off the bed and, with a hand pressed against his mouth, managed to stumble to the bathroom before vomiting into the toilet, burning his throat further. The unpleasant flavor lingered on his tongue as he wiped his lips and reached forward to flush.

Wandering to the sink, he ran the water and began to rinse his hands and cupped his fingers to sip some from and rinse his mouth, but he didn't step away after turning off the faucet. Instead, he stood before the mirror and stared at himself with a look of disappointment. "How could you let this happen?" he whispered to himself, his forehead whacking softly against the mirror. He bumped it again a few more times before running a hand over his face and stepping away from the bathroom.

There was a pounding at his door, and Charles was inclined to ignore it a moment before he released a sigh. He was late for work. Usually he was on his way to the precinct when the sun was barely peeking through the skyscrapers, but it had risen enough to shine through his window, which told him he was at least an hour late—if not more. Fingers massaged his temple as he crossed the living room, but he stopped midway with surprise flooding through him. There were stacks of bundled cash sitting on the table.

"Good lord," Charles whispered, his eyes widened. It was a large amount of money... but however much it was, it was still tainted. This was money from the Brotherhood, from _Erik Lehnsherr._ He wanted to throw it in the garbage, but he was in a desperate situation for it, and Lehnsherr knew that. Fingers ran through his hair as he glanced back and forth between the money and the door.

"Charles!" Raven shouted through the door. "Charles, open the door!"

Panic swept over him as he moved back and forth between the table and the door until he scrambled to scoop the stacks of cash all into his arms and shove them under the covers of his bed. Then he hurried to undo the chain on the front door and swing it open. "What? What is it?" he asked, brows furled as he massaged the bridge of his nose to ease the ache of his head.

Her eyes took in his form as she paused momentarily, eyebrows lifting "You look like shit..." Shaking her head, she began, "It's 10 AM! Where have you been? We need you at the station, like, _now_. Something's happened."

"What?" he asked as his eyes glanced down to the suspenders that hung at his sides hurried to put them on.

"Our witness is in a body bag," she replied, annoyed. "No one came in or out of the cell block all night, but he got whacked."

Charles' eyes drifted downward. He didn't need to think long about it. "Victor..."

"That's exactly what we're thinking, but we have no idea how. We've swept the entire area but there are no finger prints, no hairs, no nothing."

Charles nodded, running his fingers through his hair. "Just, umm... Just let me get my coat."

"Are you alright?" Raven asked as she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You don't sound so great..."

When he opened his mouth to tell her what had happened, Lehnsherr's voice echoing in his mind stopped him. _"We have ears and eyes everywhere_ ," he'd said as his parting words. A reminder for Charles to keep his mouth shut.

Charles swallowed hard. "I'm fine," he replied, trying to clear his throat. "Just a little cold." He coughed a bit and shook his inhaler, breathing in the contents before replacing it in his pocket. "Let's just go—"

"No, no..." Raven stopped him with an arm against his chest. "You wore those clothes yesterday, Charles." He blushed slightly, embarrassed that she'd noticed as she squeezed his shoulder. "Why don't you take it slow this morning? Just take a shower and come in when you're ready." An encouraging smile was offered to him.

Charles nodded his head with a yawn and rubbed his eyes. "Alright... Alright, I'll just need a few minutes."

After Raven left, Charles found himself relieved to not have to rush to work. He was still feeling uneasy, his stomach lurching occasionally at the smallest wrong movement. Perhaps a shower _would_ make him feel better. Charles shed his clothes and turned on the water, still haunted by the events that had happened the night before. The soap helped him feel as though he were washing his sins away as well as any sort of imaginary lingering residue from Lehnsherr's touch on his skin.

  
  


Charles sighed as he leaned against the doorframe of the cell where Armando lay with a bullet hole through his head from the mouth. Brotherhood members that had previously attempted to leave in exchange for protection ended up with holes through the backs of their heads as well. This was a message, a universal sign that the victim was a rat

Charles sighed, running a hand down his face. "And he wasn't out of his cell at all last night?"

"No, sir," the female officer replied. "The cells never opened."

He glanced back at Victor Creed who lurked menacingly at his cell door, watching with a knowing glint in his eye. Charles nodded his head to the responding officer as he pulled out his inhaler and took a breath of its contents, wandering over to stand before Victor's cell. "And you didn't see anything, I take it?" he asked in annoyance.

"Not a thing," Victor replied, the only expression on his face made when his eyebrows lifted. "I slept all through the night thanks to my luxurious new bed. You really should try it out."

Charles glanced suspiciously at the mattress before he grabbed Victor by the collar and jerked him forward against the bars. "You're not going to get away with this," he hissed.

Victor began to laugh after the surprise wore off. "You're strong for being so small. That strength won't save you, _detective_." He spoke Charles' title mockingly, which earned him a shove backwards before Charles stepped out of the cell block to approach Raven.

"Any progress?" she asked, flipping through some papers while simultaneously typing at the same time.

"Not at all," he muttered, glancing around to make sure the others around them could not overear the conversation. "I have no idea how he did it. You said his cell was searched?"

"Every inch of it," she insisted. "We didn't find a thing."

"Damnit," Charles growled as he wandered toward his desk. He opened the case file that lay atop a small stack of two or three, but as he flipped through the pages, he felt his gut began to sink in dread as he realized... the pages including evidence and the eye witness account were gone. A small fury of panic began in the pit of his stomach as Charles flipped through the pages deliberately one by one, but still there was nothing. He looked up, taking a quick glance over the station before him. "Raven, has anyone been at my desk?" he asked, trying to sound and appear calm.

"Nope," she replied without lifting her eyes from her typewriter. After a moment, her fingers lowered and she turned to face him. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Charles swallowed hard as he sat down. "No," he replied, taking a quick glance around the station before him. "No, nothing's wrong."

There was a mole in the station. Well, _another_ mole—other than Charles. Someone helped Victor kill Armando, and someone took the damning evidence from Victor's file, and it dawned on him suddenly why Victor had been so very well prepared to be arrested and interrogated. He needed to be in the jail to hit Armando. "Shit," Charles hissed under his breath as he slammed his fist onto his desk. Why couldn't anybody see this coming, especially him? A frustrated sigh huffed through his lips as he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Everything alright?"

Charles' hands dropped away to reveal Logan standing before him with a mug in one hand and a case file in the other. "Just fantastic," Charles replied with a sarcastic smile. "Things have been _shit_ lately."

"I heard about what happened with Armando last night. A shame. But what about the breakthrough with Victor?" Logan stepped closer to the desk as he took a sip of his coffee. "We have his eyewitness account. He doesn't need to be alive for that."

"Useless. It's useless." Charles threw the folder down on his desk before Logan. "The evidence, the eye witness—everything is _gone_."

"What'd'you mean it's _gone_?" Logan demanded as he rounded the desk. His mug was set down and he flipped through the pages.

"I mean it's gone," Charles replied. "As in it's not in the file anymore. And it's not as if he'll be giving us another statement any time soon with a hole in the back of his head."

"What the _fuck_..." Logan's eyes lifted and looked around suspiciously as his voice lowered. "Goddamnit." With a deep sigh, he shook his head and strode away angrily with his fists balled.

Charles leaned back into his chair, watching Logan with interest until he disappeared through the door. They would have to release Victor because of their lack of evidence, and he was sure that Logan would be very displeased about it judging by his reaction.

He began to wonder, though... Was Logan still working with the Brotherhood? The encounter he'd had last night really did make him begin to question the loyalties of the people around him. Lehnsherr had said they had eyes and ears everywhere, and it was evident that he meant in the department as well. Anyone could have been the one responsible to destroy the documents (and the evidence, which was what Logan probably went to check on), and Charles really had no way of knowing who. He wasn't even going to bother fingerprinting. The case file had been in and out of several people's hands in the last few weeks, so it would be absolutely pointless.

The dull ache in his forehead returned—an after-effect of the chloroform, no doubt. Charles released a sigh as he tapped his pencil against the desk with a mindless stare in his eyes. He could feel the tickle in his throat that usually called for the use of his inhaler, which he obliged with a quick breath inward from it.

Juggling two lives... it was going to be difficult for him. Charles wondered how others lived their two separate lives, how they could look themselves in the mirror day after day knowing they were breaking the oath they'd taken to become an officer of the law. And he was one of them, under the thumb of the Brotherhood.

Despite being forced into this position, it was still the same scenario. He wasn't going to succumb to the idea of being a helpless victim. He was just as responsible for letting this happen as any other that willingly signed up. If he gave himself a victim's mindset, he would blame the Brotherhood for his actions and begin to justify bad decisions and terrible actions on his part, and he wasn't about to do that. The bastards... thinking they could control him. His hand tightened around the pencil, so hard that it snapped in his fingers, surprising even himself. He dumped the pieces of it into the garbage can with eyebrows furled, frustrated. Charles was not going to let them run his life. He was going to make them pay for their crimes, if it was the last thing he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek, I'm sorry that this probably feels like a filler chapter. More to come though! And soon!


	5. Chapter 5

Eyes drifted upward to the clock ticking on the wall, and with a groan, Charles stretched and dropped his pencil onto the desk as he leaned back into his chair. He checked the watch on his wrist and sighed softly. Sure enough, the clock was right. It was nearly 11 PM. Raven had since left, mumbling something about an appointment, although he wasn't sure what kind of business had appointments at night. Not really his business anyway.

He sighed softly, closing the Muñoz/Creed file as he stood up and grabbed the jacket from the back of his chair.

"Heading out for the night?" Logan asked from a few desks away. The precinct was mostly empty, with only three or four other officers on duty that weren't patrolling, so he was easy to hear over the near-silence. Phones were still ringing in the background but that was really the only sound he could hear other than some conversations about work here and there.

"I think I should... I can barely keep myself awake," he replied with a chuckle.

Logan nodded his head. "You mind if I take a look at the Muñoz file?"

With a shrug, Charles picked it up and crossed the space between them to place it on his desk. "Not at all. Just bring it back to me in one piece," he teased.

A brief chuckle slipped through Logan's lips. "Yeah, yeah."

Charles mumbled a quick goodbye as he donned his coat and exited the station. The night air was warmer than he'd thought it would be but still had a chill about it. The moon hung in the sky, shining with all its silver beauty on display for the world. It always made him feel sad to see the moon, as beautiful as it was. It always seemed so lonely, despite being in a sky littered with trillions upon trillions of other stars.

He glanced around the street as a precaution to make sure he wasn't going to be kidnapped (again) or mugged by any lurking menaces as he made his way to the car. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he unlocked the door and climbed into the vehicle. The engine rolled over and roared to life, headlights flicked on, and he pulled out of the parking lot and began his journey home. The steering wheel beneath his hands seemed to begin vibrating a bit more than usual, but it wasn't bothersome enough to worry him.

It was strange... Since his 'meeting' a few days ago with the Brotherhood, Charles had been able to sleep a bit better at night. He still tossed and turned quite a bit, plagued by insomnia, but it wasn't severe as it had been before. Maybe the over-excitement was beginning to get to him and finally wear him out enough to sleep again.

Charles didn't notice until it was almost too late, but the vibration in the steering wheel began to worsen and worsen throughout the drive until it was nearly jerking back and forth, and then suddenly the entire weight of the car pitched forward slightly, and there was a loud _SCREECH_ as he halted to a stop on the side of the road. His heart was hammering as he clutched the steering wheel, unsure of exactly what had just happened. His inhaler was used before he climbed out of the car to cautiously inspect it.

The car was leaning at an angle towards the front passenger side, and as he came around to examine the tire, he found that there was no tire. In fact, there was not even a wheel. The entire thing had simply fallen off. He gave a small chuckle with his brow furled, unsure exactly what to make of this. Was it some sort of sick joke? Someone had to have loosened the bolts on the wheel before he left for work. This was premeditated, which meant that Charles did not find himself surprised to find a car pull up next to him in the dark.

"Car trouble?" He knew the voice from behind him, and it sent goosebumps across his skin as a chill ran down his spine. Charles turned to find none other than Victor Creed in the driver's seat of the sleek black car, that dangerous smirk playing on his lips as he watched Charles' every move, like a predator ready to pounce.

Charles swallowed hard, glancing up and down the road for some kind of savior, but all there was either way was emptiness. "You already know the answer to that question," he replied, trying to hide the tremble in his voice.

Victor gave a small chuckle and lifted a gun pointed in Charles' direction, which caused his hair to stand on end. Was this it? Was this his end? Had he made some sort of wrong move he didn't know about? "The boss is in the back." He waved the gun in the direction of the back seat. "Go on, get in. Don't make him wait."

Charles found himself relieved not only because he wasn't getting burned but that he was not alone with Victor. The man honestly scared the shit out of Charles. His eyes drifted to the back door and he slowly began towards it. With a quick glance down to his hands, he found that they were shaking. The momentary scare that he thought his life was about to end had deeply frightened him. As much as he hated the idea of Lehnsherr seeing him like this, he did as he was told.

The door swung open and there he sat in the darkness, looking sleek and dangerous with his face barely illuminated by the light of the headlights. "Charles," he greeted, a faint smirk upon his lips.

Charles broke eye contact and climbed into the seat, shutting the door, and the car began moving forward. He was amazed at how smooth it seemed to drive compared to his cruiser. No doubt they'd had improvements made to the make his rides around town much more comfortable. He said nothing, sitting silently wedged in the corner as far as he could go.

"Terribly sorry about the car. We'll have someone bring it by later for you."

"You could have just asked me to pull over," Charles muttered as he glanced at the man beside him.

"Would you have stopped?" Lehnsherr asked, his eyebrows raising slightly.

He did not reply, unsure of the answer himself.

Lehnsherr gave a curt chuckle. "I thought so. Anyway, I've a bit of a problem I need looking into." A folder was produced from Lehnsherr's side, and he held it across the space between them that he seemed to begin closing as he moved closer.

Charles felt his heart quiver by the movement, his breath caught in his throat. He could hardly bear being so close to Lehnsherr. He wanted to tear the man's throat out, but he lacked the courage at the moment. His hands were still trembling when he reached out to grab it and flip it open. The pictures within were of a young boy. He couldn't have been much older than 18, if that.

"Alex Summers," Lehnsherr informed him. "He's no detective, but he's part of some wannabe street gang that has been poking their noses in places they don't belong. Find out what they know and report back to me."

With furled eyebrows, Charles turned to look at him with a look of shock. "You're giving me a case to  _investigate_?"

Lehnsherr did not look amused. "What other reason would we have hired you?" he asked, as if it were obvious.

Charles found himself embarrassed. Of course, it _should_ have been obvious. "Why don't you just kill him?" The question sounded cruel coming out of Charles' mouth, but it was not his intention. He simply found himself genuinely curious. The Brotherhood was known for taking lives on a whim. What was so special about this boy and his gang?

"He could prove to be useful," Lehnsherr replied. "But that's none of your concern. I expect some progress by the end of the week."

"The end of the week?! That's three days! I have a life, you know!" Charles immediately replied in defense.

"You mean drinking yourself into a stupor every night?" Lehnsherr replied, his eyes narrowing despite the smirk still playing on his lips. This was a dare. He was daring Charles to make a move, but Charles knew better. His hand curled into a tight fist in his lap, but he kept his composure, refusing to reply. "Three days. All the information you'll need is in the file."

The car came to a stop, and Charles glanced out the window to see that they'd arrived at his apartment building. He reached for the handle and was about to pull it to open the door when a hand was set high on his thigh, and Charles turned to find Lehnsherr only a few inches from his face as their eyes locked. He was completely frozen, unsure of what was happening as his heart began to pound against his chest.

"Don't disappoint me, Charles," he uttered in a low voice. Charles felt a strange feeling begin to fill at the pit of his stomach as Lehnsherr's eyes flickered down to his lips, lingering there momentarily before he removed his hand and leaned back into his seat with a smile.

Charles' knees were trembling as he climbed out of the car and shut the door, folder in hand. His heart thundered within his chest and his breathing had become more rapid, calling for him to use his inhaler as he ascended the stairs to his apartment.

"What the fuck," he muttered to himself as he entered his apartment and threw the folder onto the table. The door slammed shut behind him. "What the _fuck_."

He paced around, trying to calm his racing mind as he slipped out of his jacket. He wandered to the closet and hung it up with clumsy, fumbling hands before slamming that door shut as well in frustration. A hand ran through his hair, which he then began to finger through in anxiousness. What was the matter with him? What the hell just happened?

He collapsed into one of the chairs in the living room, his eyes drifted down to the spot where Lehnsherr's hand had been as he reminisced the moment lived only a few minutes ago. He found himself placing his own hand there, trying to recall what it'd felt like before he slapped himself with both hands. "Stop it, Charles," he whispered, rubbing the skin of his face.

Lehnsherr was toying with him, and he damn well knew how to do it, but Charles was not going to let this happen. Charles was just lonely. Anyone could have done the same thing, and he would have had the same reaction. He found himself disgusted that Erik Lehnsherr had been able to do this to him, to stir feelings of desire within him. He huffed a frustrated breath and pushed out of the chair, hurrying across the room to pour himself a glass of rum.

Charles settled back into his chair with the glass in hand, but he did not drink from it as he sat there in thought, racing back and forth in his mind as to why he was reacting this way. _I'm just lonely_ , he assured himself as he glanced down at the erection barely visible through his slacks. _I'm just lonely_...

Gaze flickered down to the photo of himself and Moira on the coffee table. Instead of reaching out to grab it and hold it in his hands like he usually did with admiration, he instead flipped it face-down on the table. He couldn't bear the thought of Moira knowing what had just happened, how he'd reacted. The shame was almost unbearable. He took a few deep breaths while trying to calm himself and set the glass of rum down while he hurried to inhale some of his medicine through his mouth.

 _It's just a trick_ , Charles reminded himself as his hand drifted down to rest on his thigh once more. His fingers brushed against his aroused member through the fabric of his trouser just barely before he moved his hand away, tightening it into a fist.

_Just a trick..._

 


	6. Chapter 6

He couldn't remember how or why, but there were hands touching him, feeling across skin, and Charles gave no resistance. It had been so long since he had been touched so sweetly and intimately, and he missed the feeling of it. The hands upon him were firm, and the larger body that he felt move against his own was chiseled and strong. Charles had never been with a man or even found himself wanting to, but he didn't fight it. It felt nice, nicer than he thought it would. Even though homophobia was rampant in this day and age, he found himself unafraid and willing to try.

His eyes were closed but he was aware of everything happening to him—the lips pressing against the skin of his neck, the fingers that slipped just barely within the waistband of his underwear, the motion of their bodies moving against each other. He released a soft moan as his arms found their way to the male's shoulders above him, Charles' legs spreading to allow him between them. Whoever it was, their touch was gentle and passionate, and it made Charles feel wanted. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like that.

Charles found himself becoming more and more curious. Who was this person that treated him so delicately? He almost resisted the urge, but his eyes cracked open to be met with the face of Erik Lehnsherr smirking down at him. Charles found himself surprised that he did not react adversely to the discovery of the male's identity. He was still calm and willing to let Erik do what he wanted, despite none of this seeming like it was right. There was something off... but he couldn't quite place it.

His eyes fell closed again, fingers entwining with Erik's soft hair as he kissed along Charles' jaw and up to his lips. The kiss they shared was passionate, hungry as Erik rocked against him, and Charles found himself eager for more as he moaned.

As if Erik had read his mind in the dark of the bedroom, his hand trailed down across Charles' abdomen and tugged at the material of his underwear. There was an excitement in the pit of his stomach as they were slowly peeled away from him, and Erik knelt before him with a hungry look in his eyes that took in his form. After a moment of admiration, he was over Charles again quickly, kissing his skin and tasting him once more. Charles released a moan when his member was taken in hand by Erik, who began to stroke the length of it with his fingers, slowly and deliberately.

Charles had never been caressed in such a way by another person. Erik moved slow but with precision, knowing just how to move his fingers across the skin of the member. The feeling of it was euphoric. Charles was touching Erik, his hands feeling every inch of his sculpted skin as he moaned softly from the touch.

A hand was set to the back of Erik's neck to guide him into another desperate kiss, Charles rocking against the movement of his hand. The stirrings of an ogasm were already beginning to form in Charles as he moaned softly, tucking his face into the crook of Erik's neck. He panted for breath as he arched against Erik. "Ahh... yes," he whispered, coming closer and closer to the edge. "Yes, yes...!"

His back arched, and he came hard with waves of pleasure racking him accompanied by a low moan, but as this happened, Charles became aware that he was transitioning to consciousness from a dream and realized that it was not Erik's hand that had been touching him but his own. Panting, his eyes opened, and he looked around to find that he was alone in his bedroom. It was just a dream.

His chest rose and fell with his heavy breath, and he rolled over, fumbling to find the inhaler on his bedside table while trying to keep the mess of his semen within his underwear. He groaned in frustration, tangled in the blankets as the inhaler fell to the floor, and he had to lean over the edge to grab it from underneath the bed.

After an inhale was taken, he kicked the blanket off and very carefully removed the boxers, using them to wipe himself and his hand off before disposing of them in the laundry basket. He returned to bed, quite unnerved about what had just happened. He curled into a ball on his side, tucked into the blankets that he wrapped around himself as he lay there in thought.

What was this supposed to mean? He hated Erik Lehnsherr. The man had all but ruined his life and had continued to ruin it over the extent of the past three years. He took the love of his life away from Charles, he foiled every attempt of arrest Charles made against any of his members and halted all progress he'd ever made against the Brotherhood. He was a heartless bastard who cared about no one but himself, and he was a criminal. So why did Charles suddenly find him to be so fucking irresistable?

Now when he imagined Erik's eyes, he didn't just see a cold, calculating stare. He saw a seductive gaze. His smirks were playful instead of chilling. _Goddamnit, Charles. Get it together!_

It had only been a day since their last encounter, but within that small amount of time, the ghost of a touch against Charles' thigh had haunted his mind constantly and birthed more and more unclean thoughts. At work, at home, even in his _sleep_ , the bastard was plaguing his every thought! He tried to convince himself Erik had done this on purpose, but now... he wasn't sure. There was no way he could have known that tiny touch would set off such a chain reaction.

Everything was so confusing, and he just didn't know what was going on anymore—all because of that one touch. For years, his vendetta against Erik had been justified. Moira was dead because of him, and there was nothing Charles could do to change that. He'd lost everything. She wasn't coming back. He released a sigh, shifting against the sheets as he thought of her.

His thoughts drifted to the photograph that still lay face-down on the coffee table from the other night, and the heavy guilt that lay upon his heart returned. Charles buried his face into the blanket as he huffed a heavy sigh. He was tired of this endless loop of thoughts running around and around in his mind. The unclean thoughts followed by guilt, followed by logical reasoning that he was being ridiculous, and then the justification of it which led to more unclean thoughts.

His head lifted, and Charles looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The hands read 10:48. He hadn't slept much at all but he wasn't tired in the slightest, which meant that if he lay here for the rest of the night, he would only be consumed by thoughts of Erik and hating himself for it. He needed a distraction, maybe someone to talk to. The night was still fairly young, and the bar down the street didn't close for a few hours.

He flipped the blanket away, and the bed squeaked as he pushed himelf up from it and made his way to the shower. After washing himself twice, he climbed out and readied himself to head out. He couldn't stay here another minute if he tried. Before putting on his coat, he donned his shoulder holster and tucked his gun in place. After grabbing his inhaler, he flipped the lights off and left, locking the door behind him.

The walk to the White Horse didn't take long. Maybe 10 minutes or so, but he was torturing himself the whole time with more thoughts of Erik and Moira. When he entered, the barkeep gave him a smile and waved. "Hey, Charles! Haven't seen you for a while! Thought maybe you'd sobered up or somethin'."

Charles gave a small laugh as he slid his coat off and hung it upon one of the coatracks near the door. "Not for all the money in the world," he joked as he approached, and the two shook hands like good friends before he took a seat at one of the stools. "How ya been, Hank?"

"Busy," he replied, gesturing to the bar that seemed much livelier than usual. "Had a new wave of customers just suddenly turn up out of nowhere."

"Guess that's good for business," Charles replied, glancing across the new faces without recognizing any of them.

"Good thing, too. Had to have someone replace your nightly bill," Hank teased.

Charles rolled his eyes with a faint smile. "I'll have a scotch on the rocks," he muttered. "Seen Raven lately?"

"Yeah, she and I have been a little..." His voice trailed off and he made a so-so motion with his free hand as he poured a glass of scotch. "Little rough lately." As he capped the bottle, Hank slid the glass across the bar. Charles was quick to pick it up and take his first drink, seeming refreshed by the bitterness of it. "What about you? You got some hot new dame in your life yet?"

Charles chuckled softly, his eyes on the glass that he turned absent-mindedly. "Not exactly," he replied in a quiet voice.

Hank's eyebrows lifted in surprise as he tilted his head with a smile. "Does that mean 'maybe'?"

With a shrug, Charles laughed. "No. It's complicated."

"C'mon, tell me about her. I bet she's got some deep blue eyes, huh?" Hank picked up a glass and began to dry it off as he spoke.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he muttered, taking another sip of his drink. Charles didn't even remember the color of his eyes, though, and it somehow bothered him.

"Well, if you ever _feel_  like talkin', the bartender's everyone's best friend." Hank smiled at him, and a few customers down the bar called him away.

Charles was left to his own thoughts as he stared down at the ice in his drink that he continued to turn absent-mindedly on the bar top. Whatever he'd hoped to achieve at the bar was not being achieved. He was still plagued with the desire to see Erik again, now even more so if only to see the color of his eyes. He sighed and rubbed his face in frustration. What the hell did he think he was doing? He needed to stop thinking about Erik like this, and soon. It was going to interfere with his work and finding a way to get out from the Brotherhood's thumb. Getting shit-faced would probably help with that, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Charles slammed the drink back and set the glass on the counter with a _clink_ of the ice. "Hank?" he called softly, hoping not to interrupt. "Another scotch, please?"

  
  


\--

  
  


_"What's going on?" Charles asked as he approached the scene. He'd heard a garbled version over the comm but couldn't pick up exactly what had happened. There were multiple cruisers pulled up outside the place, their lights flashing with officers littered here and there with their weapons drawn. A spotlight was aimed at the front of the jewelry store._

_"A couple a' Brotherhood grunts broke in to rob the place. They're holed up in there with a hostage and won't come out 'less we back off and let 'em go," the officer explained. "Their getaway's back behind the shop."_

_"A hostage?" Charles asked as he readied his gun, walking with the officer towards the store. "What kind of hostage? It's 11 at night."_

_"Some bystander they snagged, I guess," the man replied with a shrug._

_"Shit," Charles muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay... Well, go ahead and tell them we'll let them go, but I'm going to take some officers into the back alley, see if we can't cut them off."_

_The officer looked concerned as he stopped Charles from walking away. "They got guns, X. Tommy guns."_

_"We'll have the element of surprise." Charles flashed a smile. "Don't worry."_

_Three other officers agreed to take the long way around the back with him and wait in the shadows of the nearby buildings. The echo of the megaphone outfront told the Brotherhood they were free to go. With his hand, Charles signaled the officers to be ready._

_The sounds of feet upon the nearby gravel caused Charles' heart to leap, and he tightened his grip on the gun in the dark. There was muttering as the Brotherhood members talked amongst themselves, hurrying to the car, until one of them gasped loudly. "Cops!" he shouted, and immediately Charles knew they were screwed. A firefight began immediately, wounding one of the officers who crumpled in pain behind where he'd been hiding. Damn! He must not have hid very well._

_Charles peeked out to assess where they were and how many. After an officer shot one, there was only one other standing there now with one hostage. "I'll kill her!" he shouted as he grabbed the woman by the hair, causing her to cry out in pain. "I swear to god, I'll kill this bitch!"_

_The man seemed focused on the officers behind the dumpster and on the other side of the alley, all of who stepped out with their hands up. This led Charles to believe he hadn't been spotted yet. "Alright!" one of the other officers shouted. "Just don't hurt her!"_

_Watching on in disbelief, Charles was about to ask them what the fuck they were doing until he heard a Tommy gun fired, and they were riddled with holes, collapsing to the ground. Charles stared at their lifeless bodies as a numb feeling passed through him, unable to move for a moment until he emerged from the shadows and shot the remaining man in the head._

_"Bastard," the woman muttered as she kicked his body, and it was at that moment that Charles realized who she was._

_"Moira?" he asked, staring at the woman before him in disbelief._

_The woman with brunette hair turned to look at him, and as she did, her face was illuminated by the street lamp just above her. "Charles," she replied with a faint smile, but not in the way that he had expected. She sounded displeased to see him._

_"Moira! Oh my god, you're safe!"_

_"Back off," she threatened, pulling a gun from her side._

_Confusion swept over Charles as he looked at her, unable to process what he was seeing. She had been missing for weeks with no sign of where she'd gone. Her clothes had all been left in the dresser and closet, along with her jewelry and makeup. Charles had called her parents, her friends, even her ex-boyfriends to find out if they knew where she was. He'd been concerned she was one of the many Jane Does they'd found over the last few weeks, but here she was, standing there as beautiful as the day they'd met—with a gun pointed at his face._

_"Moira... what are you doing?"_

_"What do you think I'm doing? Taking the loot and leaving," she replied, keeping the gun on Charles as she patted around on the man on the ground before her until she finally retrieved his keys._

_"You're one of them?" he asked in disbelief, the dread ripping through him as he stepped forward._

_Her eyes rolled as she moved to the driver's side of the car with a bag in her hand. "I could hardly resist the deal Lehnsherr offered. My own place to live? Being treated like a human being instead of some stupid housewife? Sounded like heaven to me. Sorry, but I was never meant to bake pies and have babies, Charles."_

_He could feel his heart beginning to tear open in his chest as she spoke. That was the life they always talked about living. She would stay home, take care of the children, and he would work tirelessly to support her because he loved her and wanted her to have everything she could have ever wished for. But she tore that dream apart right in front of him and revealed the truth of how she felt about it._

_Charles felt empty, like a massive hollow cavern had suddenly formed within him, and immediately his gun was lifted to aim at her. "Get away from the car, Moira," he hissed through the tears that had streaked down his tears in the dark._

_"Charles," she began, tilting her head as she opened the driver-side door. "Please. I don't want to have to hurt you."_

_"I said, get away from the car!" he shouted, his finger moving to the trigger._

_"You're not going to shoot me, Charles," she replied as she tossed in the bag of jewelry. "We both know that." She stood there, waiting to prove her point. Charles' hands were trembling as the tears ran down his face. Part of him screamed to pull the trigger. She wasn't Moira—not his Moira. The Moira he knew had been loving and gentle and sweet, and she would never hurt a fly. This person before him... she was someone else entirely. But still, the other part of him screamed to spare her because she was still Moira._

_He felt like he couldn't breathe as he watched her fake a pout. "Sorry, Charles. But this is goodbye. I guess it's nice to at least have closure now."_

_She turned to get into the car, but a loud BANG echoed off the buildings around them, and blood spattered from her body as she fell to the ground. Charles began to sob, dropping the gun from his hand as he slowly shuffled forward a moment later. He knelt beside her body and picked her up, despite the puddle of blood that was soaking into his clothes._

_"You killed her," he whispered as he rocked her lifeless body in his arms. With an inhale, he shouted into the night, "You killed her!" Erik Lehnsherr had killed her—his beautiful, warm, loving Moira—and turned her into this heartless thing Charles had to kill. "I'll make him pay. I swear I will." He sobbed as he held her close, his fingers streaked with red as they stroked her hair, now wet with blood. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."_

 


	7. Chapter 7

Charles had no idea what time it was when he managed to stumble back to his apartment building in the dead of night. 3 AM? Maybe 4? He wasn't sure but it was late, judging by how bare the streets were and how high in the sky the moon was.

He tripped, nearly faceplanting coming in the door to the apartment building and laughed at himself. The world felt so sideways that he had to hang onto the railing for dear life to keep from falling down the stairs. The keys slipped from his hands at least twice when trying to enter his apartment. Finally he was able to get the key into his front door and swing it open, but what he saw was something that he did not expect. One of the chairs was occupied in his living room, and his eyesight was a bit too muddled to tell by who. Brows furled, and Charles shut the door behind him as he stumbled inside.

"And here I thought you were out working on that case of mine." The voice was hinted with a small amount an Irish accent mixed German, and Charles knew exactly who that voice belonged to as soon as he'd begun to speak.

Oh god, not him—not now. Not after all the alcohol Charles had just consumed to forget about him and all the awful things he thought of the man sitting across the room from him.

"What are you doing in my apartment, Lehnsherr?" Charles asked, avoiding looking in Erik's direction as he removed his coat—but not without some trouble, of course. He tried to sound demanding, but all he really sounded like was drunk. Charles' thoughts were a jumbled mess, and at the moment, he couldn't decide if he was pleased Erik was sitting in his living room or if he was damn well pissed about it.

"That's no way to talk to your employer, Charles."

Charles sighed as he stumbled to the nearby kitchen counter to lean against it, coat slipping from his hands to land in a crumpled heap on the floor. "Employer," he muttered, not bothering to pick it up as he slipped his feet out of his shoes. "Hah! You're not my boss, Lehnsherr."

"Charles," Erik replied sharply as he came to stand beside him, a hand set upon the counter. With a quick glance, Charles noticed he seemed to have made himself comfortable while waiting. He wore no suit jacket over his pinstriped vest, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone where there seemed to be a tie missing from. "You don't want to leave the Brotherhood." Leaning in, Erik's voice lowered to a dangerous tone. The smell of fine cologne and cigarettes accompanied him. "You have plenty of case files that tell you how that ends."

The threat urged him to meet Erik's gaze, and Charles swallowed hard. Through the fog in his mind, he was still able to sift through his memories well enough to remember that his friends' lives were in danger. But with how drunk he was, Charles had no filter on his thoughts. "Like hell I don't," he muttered and gave Erik a shove. "I don't work for you! I won't!"

"Charles," Erik began, his eyes rolling with impatience as he regained his balance.

"You took her from me," he shouted as his hand curled around the material of Erik's vest. "You destroyed her! Why would I work for the man responsible for her death?!"

The annoyance apparent in his expression shifted quickly to amusement as Erik smirked. "You mean your dearest Moira?" he asked softly, eyebrows lifting.

"Don't you dare say her name!" Charles shouted. He reached around himself and clumsily tried to pull the gun from its place in his shoulder holster, but Erik was quick to react and smacked it out of his hand before it could be pointed in his direction. Frustrated, Charles made an attempt to throw a punch, but it was easily avoided by Erik who moved sideways a step. As he did so, his hand grabbed hold of Charles' wrist, and Erik shoved him hard against the nearby wall with his arm twisted up his back.

"Listen to me very carefully, Charles." The warmth of Erik's breath puffed against his ear as he spoke in a low tone. Charles felt a chill run down his spine as he tried to pull his arm out of the painful hold. "I didn't force her to leave you."

This sentence alone was enough to weaken his resolve, despite his continued attempts to wriggle free. "Let me go!"

"She wanted to leave," Erik taunted as he grabbed Charles by the shoulder and turned him around to slam him against the wall again.

Charles grunted from the impact, his stomach turning with dread as he turned away. He couldn't stand to hear this. The heart hammering against his chest was beginning to ache again as he was reminded of the truth. Still, he fought against it because he simply did not want to believe it. "Moira would never—she loved me!" Erik's hands released him, and Charles slumped weakly against the wall as he cast his eyes downward, repeating in a broken voice, "She loved me..."

"She never loved you, Charles, or she never would have left you," Erik replied, straightening his vest and smoothing it down as he stepped away. "You should thank me for exposing her for what she truly was before it was too late."

"Thank you?" Charles demanded, straightening against the wall. "You want me to thank you for what you did to me? To us?!" His eyes were wide with rage as he lunged forward. "I should strangle you!"

Erik grabbed him by the arms before he could do much, pushing Charles back against the wall once more, this time with more force. "Charles, don't be ridiculous," Erik jeered. Frustration was all that Charles felt at how easily he could be pushed about like a plaything in the state he was in, his balance completely off-center. His body tensed when Erik shifted, preparing for a punch or something of similar nature, but Charles let out a gasp as he was pinned to the wall with Erik's body, whose lips descended upon his own with force.

The sensation of a kiss upon his lips was something that he had not felt in a long time, and for a moment he hadn't the slightest of how to react but to simply mimic the motion as his eyes fell shut. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been kissed. Moira and Charles had shared plenty of kisses before, but this was different. There was heat, there was hunger. He felt _wanted_. Compared to this, everything he'd ever shared with Moira felt empty, void of all emotion. Maybe... Maybe Erik was right...

Charles snapped out of his trance only a few seconds later and began to struggle for freedom as he turned away to break the kiss. "Stop this!" he shouted, pulling from Erik's hold finally and regaining his balance with the help of the nearby couch. With the back of his sleeve, Charles wiped his lips as his cheeks flushed a light pink. He felt completely dazed, as if he were dreaming as he stared at Erik across the room. The alcohol in his bloodstream didn't exactly help his perception either. All of this was getting to his head, and Charles felt his throat beginning to tighten from anxiety that caused his chest to heave more intensely. His inhaler was retrieved from his pocket, and he breathed in the spray of liquid eagerly in hopes of calming himself down. "What are you doing, Erik?"

"I'm no fool, Charles." Erik's fingers began to unbutton his vest, and after slipping it down his shoulders and from his arms, he lay it across the back of the couch. "I know you've been lonely."

With a glare, he backed away around the other side of the couch. There was no denying it, and he couldn't very well lie his way out of this with Erik's knowing eyes piercing through him. "Really. And whose fault is that, I wonder?"

There was a faint smirk on Erik's lips as he followed Charles' movements carefully, as if they were in a dance. "I think it's only fair I be the one to remedy that for you, then."

The alcohol had muddled his mind so badly that he was just now realizing what Erik meant by all this, and Charles couldn't help but stop in his tracks as he leaned against the couch for support, swaying slightly. Sex. Erik wanted to have sex. He wanted intimacy, love-making, fucking—whatever you wanted to call it. Never in his life would he have guessed this would happen, but Charles turned his thoughts momentarily to the dream that he'd had earlier that night. It could be a reality—right here, right now—with Erik's hands on his skin, lips on his lips, fingers in his hair and a hand on his— _Snap out of it, Charles_.

There was suddenly warm breath on his face, and it clicked in his mind that his gaze was settled upon Erik's chest that was just in front of him. Slowly, Charles lifted his gaze to look into Erik's crystal-blue eyes. "What do you want from me, Erik?" He meant to speak in a firm tone, but his voice became choked in his throat, barely even above a whisper. Not very threatening. He was vaguely aware of his knees shaking, but he couldnt tell if it was because of the alcohol or because of how close Erik was standing to him.

Charles felt a tug at his tie and swallowed hard as he glanced down to see Erik's fingers undoing the knot in it. His heart began to beat faster in ancitipation as his fingers fidgeted nervously. "I want you, Charles." His answer caused a pooling of desire in the pit of Charles' stomach.

He couldn't do this, not with Erik Lehnsherr. This man had single-handedly destroyed his life. Charles had laid in bed countless sleepless nights thinking of what he would do to him if he'd ever got his hands on Erik. But now as he stood there slipping the tie away from the collar of Charles' shirt, the circumstances were much more complicated than he'd ever anticipated. There was a war in his head happening because of his conflicting feelings, and Charles honestly could not tell which side he wanted to win.

"Stop, just—" His hands lifted, and he shoved Erik away from him to put some space between them, so that he could _think_. The force of the push nearly caused Charles to tip over from his drunkenness, but he remained standing with the help of the couch arm. Charles couldn't think with Erik so near—his cologne drifting through the air, poisoning his thoughts and making him think of doing terrible things.

Erik didn't hesitate to close the distance between them again and take Charles into his arms for another kiss. Charles' initial reaction was to fight against him, but he couldn't bring himself to break his lips away. Erik's hands were all over him, touching him, feeling everywhere they could, even beginning to slip the suspenders off Charles' shoulders...

Never before in his life had Charles been so conflicted about anything. He wanted this more than anything he could imagine, but he hated himself for it. His mind was a mess, going back and forth between choosing what was right and what he knew would please. Charles had to put space between them. He couldn't be close to Erik anymore, or he knew he would give into his darkest desires and love every second of it.

Charles pushed him away again and punched Erik square in the jaw to really give him the message this time. "Get out!" Charles ordered. Erik steadied himself in his surprise, rubbing his skin where the fist had connected to his face as Charles replaced the suspenders on his shoulders. If he lashed out, maybe it would drive Erik away and he would no longer want anything to do with Charles, though Erik's reaction was not something Charles had anticipated.

He moved forward again swiftly, grabbing Charles by the hair—which drew a cry from Charles' lips—and pulling him into another kiss. This one was more forceful, still filled with passion and sensuality but with a dominance he was unfamiliar with. Charles tried to pull away to no avail, even going so far as to bite him, but Erik simply squeezed Charles' arms in response until it began to hurt.

A very real panic was beginning to grip him as Charles struggled to free himself. He wasn't going to lie—Charles considered himself a strong man, but Erik's grip was like iron. "Erik," he managed to squeak between a break of their bruising kiss.

"Don't deny me, Charles," Erik whispered against his lips, removing the suspenders from Charles' shoulders once more before Erik pushed him back onto the couch. "We both want the same thing."

Charles tried to use this opportunity to scramble away, but he was slow from being intoxicated, and Erik was quick to pin him face-down into the cushions and hold him there. The sound of a belt buckle coming undone behind him gave Charles a chill across his skin.

He wasn't ready. Charles was no virgin but he'd never been mounted by another man, and the thought honestly scared him. Was it going to hurt? Would it hurt the whole time? Would he enjoy it at all? He'd never done this before. There were questions racing through his mind as Erik reached around to lower Charles' slacks and drawers. "Erik, please," he begged as he tried to fight against the iron grip holding him down over the couch.

He felt the tip of Erik's cock brush against his entrance, and his breath hitched as Charles arched his back in reflex. The faint touch caused him to shudder, and Charles' cheeks flushed crimson with heat as he leaned back slightly to feel it again. The desire was returning to him just because of that faint touch, and Erik seemed relieved at the suddenly lack of resistance. The shaft was pressed against him again with purpose this time, and Charles gripped the cushions of the couch until his knuckles were white as Erik pressed into him.

The feeling of being penetrated was unlike anything he'd experienced before in his life. The skin stretching to accomadate Erik's girth caused Charles to cry out in pain at first, and he shuddered slightly again, drawing a knee up to brace himself against the couch cushions. There was pain, but a moment later there was a pleasure accompanying it like Charles had never known before as the head of Erik's member brushed against something inside of him. His head fell back as he moaned, "Ohh god, yes..." It was amazing and he wanted more of it, whatever this sensation was, so he rocked back against Erik to harden his thrusts. Erik released a moan of pleasure as he reached forward, his fingers threading through Charles' chestnut locks as he thrust into him with a quickened pace.

It took them an awkward few seconds to match up their rhythm, but once they were in sync, it was pure bliss. Charles could never imagine living without this again as he thrust back hard against Erik. His eyes closed, eyebrows furled as he tried to focus on the pleasurable prickling feeling that had begun to build within him. With every thrust, it grew more and more intense until finally Charles realized he was about to cum. He'd never orgasmed before without his cock being touched, and the idea of it frustrated and excited him all at once. He wanted so badly to reach down and stroke himself, but he wouldn't be able to without crashing face-first into the couch and risking discomfort until Erik was finished.

The sensation intensified within him but as Erik slowed down a moment (presumably to keep himself from cumming prematurely), Charles whined and wriggled as he fought to keep hold of it. "No, please—please, don't stop, Erik..." The begging encouraged Erik to return to his former speed quickly, his breaths growing into moans as he thrust harder.

Although the feeling had lessened some, Charles was relieved to find he was still able to feel the pleasure building. "Yes... Yes... Erik, _yes..._!" After a few more thrust, finally it sent him over the edge as he gasped, moaning loudly as his member twitched and hardened. The semen that had leaked from him lined the front of his underwear, sticky and wet against his skin. The sensation was indescribable. Charles would say it felt as if his entire body were wracked with pleasure versus a usual orgasm that was focused mainly in the penis. It was also incredibly weakening, seeing as Charles nearly collapsed from the trembling in his knees he felt from the experience.

Erik wasn't far behind with his own orgasm and came only a few seconds later within Charles as his grip tightened in brunette strands momentarily, and the rocking of their bodies came to a halt. A moan left Charles' lips as Erik pulled out of him and zipped up his trousers. He felt so _empty_ as he fell to his knees before the couch.

Now that he wasn't focused on his orgasm, Charles was suddenly aware of how hot and sweaty he'd become and wanted to strip his clothing very quickly. His fingers clawed at his shirt, buttons seeming nearly impossible to pop open. Once he was able to remove the damn thing, he fell back onto the floor and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath as he sighed in relief. He didn't care that his slacks were hanging low from his hips, barely covering his softening erection. He didn't care that Erik's semen was leaking out of him and onto his carpet. He'd just had the best cum of his life, and he needed a moment to recover, physically and mentally.

With his eyes closed, Charles lay there for a long while in silence as his thoughts became rational once more. Whatever had just happened between them... he was beginning to wonder what it meant. Was it just a one-time fling, or would this be happening again? He was curious if he would be experiencing an orgasm like that again in the future (god, he hoped so), but it was not a question he was going to ask Erik. His pride forbade it, however little of it he had left.

The sound of a lighter rang in his ears, and Charles cracked his eyes open to look up at Erik on the couch, inhaling from the cigarette that he'd just lit. He was shirtless, only his slacks on as he breathed out the smoke through his lips. There was something beautiful about him despite his dangerous edge. His dark eyes, his strong jaw... Perhaps it was even that edge that made him all the more alluring. Charles hated that Erik was so handsome, and he hated that he was so unrelenting in his attraction to Erik.

A soft sigh was breathed through his nose as he watched the smoke rise up from the tip of Erik's cigarette. It didn't take long for the smell to reach him. Normally, Charles didn't like the smell of cigarettes. Being around them triggered his asthma, but he couldn't help finding himself fond of the smell now as Erik exhaled another breath of smoke in the silence.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask. So many why's and what if's that ran through Charles' mind, but he stayed silent a moment before pushing himself up from the floor. He hadn't realized how weak his legs were until he tried to stand, and combined with his tipsiness from drinking earlier, he very nearly fell again if not for the support he found in Erik's knee. A hot blush warmed his cheeks as Charles held his trousers up long enough to shuffle to his bedroom before he stripped them away in favor of a shower. The heat of the water was sobering and soothed his aching muscles, and being in the confines of his bathroom finally helped him feel like he had enough room to think and process what had happened just a few moments ago.

Charles had never felt more ashamed of himself, now that the gravity of the situation had finally sunk in. He, a detective and sworn officer of the law, had just allowed himself to sexually submit to the city's most notorious criminal in the worst possible way. Not only the most notorious criminal but also one that caused him more suffering than he thought he deserved. So why was he so oddly at peace with this? Charles didn't understand. He should be more upset about what had just happened in his living room than he was. He should be seething, like he was not 15 minutes ago when Erik taunted and teased him about Moira. But he wasn't. Instead, his thoughts were focused on one question that kept coming back to him: _Will I see him again?_

Turning the water off, Charles dried himself off and stepped out of the bathroom. From where he stood in his bedroom, he could see that Erik was not on the couch where he'd been previously. Charles padded down the hall with a towel around his waist and looked around in anticipation when he reached the living room and kitchen, but it seemed that Erik was gone. As much as he tried to fight it, Charles found himself disappointed that he'd been left alone after their encounter together. He wasn't sure what he was looking for or why, but regardless, he sighed and walked to the door to lock the deadbolt.

On his way back to the bedroom, Charles paused beside the couch. Erik's vest still lay there, undisturbed from when he'd laid it there when Charles first came home. His eyes lingered on the silk material momentarily before he picked it up with an unsure hand and lifted it to his nose. The scent of cologne and cigarettes still lingered upon it strongly, and Charles smiled faintly down at it from the reminder of him.

He carried it with him back to his bed where he stripped himself of the towel and lay down with the vest clutched to his chest. His thoughts of Erik ran wild, but Charles was relieved that his exhaustion was beginning to overcome him already. He closed his eyes as he inhaled the scents from the material in his hands deeply, releasing the breath with relief. Sleep would take him quickly tonight, and he couldn't be more grateful for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys know your comments keep me going. I love you all. ♥


	8. Chapter 8

The tick of the clock on the wall was maddening as Charles watched it tock. His anxious fingers twirled a pencil between them, his other hand trying to keep busy by drumming fingers against the desk. A quick glance to his watch told him that the station clock was indeed correct, however agonizing it was to confirm it. He felt like a teenage boy anxious for school to end. To distract himself, he shifted mindlessly through the case upon his desk. Although his eyes scanned diligently across the words of the pages like always, he found himself unable to read and process them. He was far too distracted.

Relief washed over him when finally the clock struck 8:50. "Raven," Charles called to her at the next desk over as he flipped the folder shut, "I think I'm going to head home early tonight..."

"Everything okay?" she asked in surprise as she lifted her head from the file she'd been working on.

"Of course, of course. I'm just... tired." It was a lie, and he could tell as soon as it had come from his mouth that Raven knew better by the look she gave him. "I can barely keep my eyes on my work." Okay, not so much a lie that time.

"Sure," she replied, cocking a suspicious eyebrow. "Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Charles repeated as he donned his coat and hurried through the station and out the front door.

The asphalt was wet under his shoes as Charles glanced both ways down the street. He flipped the collar of his black coat up to shield his neck and ears from the cool night air while making his way down the street and around the corner. Like there had been the last few nights in a row, a black Hudson sat beside the sidewalk with its motor running, waiting. Charles gave a quick glance around as he walked up to the car and opened the back door, sliding into the back seat. The car was put into gear before it chugged off into the night.

"Evening, detective." Victor's voice was still just as chilling even now.

"Victor," he greeted in a quiet voice. Charles propped his elbow up onto the door and chewed anxiously at his lip.

There was a long silence between them as they drove along until Victor broke it. "Am I the only one who enjoys these quiet drives?" His voice was saturated in sarcasm.

"If you hadn't crashed my car by taking a wheel off of it, I wouldn't need a chauffeur," Charles snapped, his eyebrows furled slightly as he glared at Victor in the rear-view mirror.

Victor gave no reply for a moment. He only chuckled in his menacing way that gave Charles chills. "You're lucky he likes you. The last man that spoke to me the way you do is still swimming with the fishes." He glanced into the mirror with a smirk. "But I won't give you too many hints about him, detective. You're not as dull as the last one."

Charles wanted to sink into the seat, swallowing hard under the weight of the veiled threat despite the backhanded compliment he was given. Victor's cryptic quips never sat well with him. He had half a mind to tell him to go to hell, but Charles was still unsure of how far he could push Victor before the man snapped. He'd seen pictures of suspected victims, and Charles didn't want to become one of them. Quickly, he pulled out his inhaler and inhaled before tucking it back in his pocket.

The brakes squeaked a few moments later before his apartment building, and before the vehicle even came to a full stop, he was stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him. Victor gave him the willies, and he didn't want to spend more than a second with him than he had to. The car chugged away into the night, much to Charles' relief. He took a deep breath and heaved a heavy sigh as he made his way up the familiar creaking stairs. It was good to be home and away from all of the distracting noises of the office.

Keys withdrawn, he unlocked the door and swung it open. The apartment was quiet, like always. Charles yawned as he stepped inside and locked the door behind him, hanging up his coat on the rack by the door.

If not for the sudden quick footsteps to warn him, Charles would not have been prepared to brace himself from being slammed against his front door. He groaned, fighting against the hands that held his wrists to the wood.

"Slow reflexes, Charles," a low voice uttered in his ear. "I'm disappointed."

Charles tried to fight the smile that tugged at the corner of his lip. "You're losing your touch, Erik," he whispered back. His leg lifted, and he wedged his foot against the door, using it to launch the both of them backwards from it. As expected, Erik slammed into the kitchen counter behind them with a grunt, and Charles took this chance to pull away from the loosened grip and pull his gun, aiming it directly at Erik as he took a step back. "You lose." His finger was off the trigger, of course.

Erik wheezed momentarily as he pushed himself off the counter, hands held up defensively. "This doesn't mean you've won."

"What do you mean I haven't won?" Frustration rang in Charles' voice. "I'm pointing a gun at you."

"A gun doesn't mean anything unless you use it, Charles." As Charles began to process what he'd said, Erik slapped the gun from his hand, which clattered to the ground, and tackled him with a rush to his abdomen. The wind was knocked out of Charles as he landed flat on his back, and before he knew it, he was being turned onto his stomach. The click of handcuffs elicited a defeated groan from Charles with his hands now bound behind his back. "You lose," Erik proclaimed proudly, though quietly, to Charles as he descended upon him with a kiss to his neck.

"Alright," Charles replied, trying to catch his breath as his hands squirmed. "You win. Now get these things off me."

"Mn... I was hoping I might use them to my advantage," he muttered against the skin of Charles' neck that he pressed kisses against before nipping firmly.

"Erik—" Charles cut himself off with a sharp inhale and released a moan as his eyes fell shut. "S-stop..."

"Do you really want me to stop?" he asked in a low purr, fingers running up along his inner thigh.

Charles did not reply, the skin of his face feeling as though it were burning as it lightened to a pink color. He could feel his erection beginning to harden in his slacks simply from anticipation. No, he didn't want Erik to stop, but his pride kept him from saying so. Every time they did this since their first night together, Erik always tried to make him beg—and as much as Charles tried to assure himself he wouldn't break, somehow he always did.

The warmth of Erik's hand disappeared just as it was about to reach his member, and Charles very quickly let out an embarrassing noise. "No—no, please," Charles whispered, lifting his head to look back at him.

Erik chuckled softly as he leaned down once more. But he was startled at the sound of clicking as the handcuffs popped open, and Charles latched them around Erik's wrist. In his surprise, Erik did not anticipate being knocked over onto his back. Charles straddled him, bringing his hands together and locking Erik's other wrist into the handcuffs as he smirked down. "... I win," he whispered with a smirk on his lips, his finger holding up the handcuff chain to boast his victory.

With a dark flash in his eyes, Erik sat up with a hand latching onto Charles' throat. "Cheater," he hissed, pulling Charles forward to crash their lips together in a rough kiss. Excitement buzzed through him as Charles undid the latches on the handcuffs, and they fell away, clattering onto the kitchen floor before his arms encircled Erik's neck. Erik untucked the shirt from Charles' slacks quickly before his hands could roam the smooth wamness of his skin.

He loved this. He loved to be so close to Erik, to feel the passion and the heat of him even in a simple kiss. Charles could barely get enough of it. Ever since their first encounter those few days ago, it was all he could think about. Work was nearly impossible to focus on because Erik's hands and lips on his skin haunted his thoughts, and his dark, piercing looks, and his low sultry voice...

Somehow through very clumsy movements, the two of them were able to move from the kitchen floor through the living room, down the darkened hallway, and finally into the bedroom as they left a trail of clothes behind them. Charles laughed as Erik tackled him onto the bed, squirming under the tickle of stubble against his skin. "S-stop...! Erik!" He laughed still as he tried to fight against the stronger form atop him.

The fire that Charles felt in his skin as Erik touched him was nearly indescribable, if not for the word euphoric. He'd never felt anything like this before with anybody, and to find it in the most unexpected place was pleasantly surprising.

A relaxing sort of excitement sparked within him as Erik lowered his head between Charles' thighs, and Charles moaned, back arching as Erik's tongue ran up the bottom of the length of his member. Fingers tightened into his auburn locks as Erik took the head in his mouth and began to suck Charles' length for a few strokes up and down. The warmth and wetness was almost overwhelming as the moans spilling from Charles' mouth escalated in volume as he lost himself in his senses. But alas, Erik was only being a tease and returned upwards to kiss Charles quickly, who whined in protest. He chuckled, amused as he steadied himself against Charles' entrance.

There was very little pain now as Erik pressed inside of him, and there was even more pleasure as Charles knew how to move his body against Erik's thrusts to deepen them and exactly what position to lie in so that the tip of Erik's cock would rub against his prostate perfectly. Fingers dug into Erik's shoulders as he moaned, a hot blush flushing the skin of his cheeks and his chest.

This was it. This was what he'd always been missing, his whole life—this feeling as he looked up at Erik with half-hooded eyes. Charles no longer worried about who Erik was—or rather used to be—to him, despite being on opposite sides of the law. He didn't care. Erik was now his lover, the one person who filled the void, who brought color to his otherwise black and white life. It had only been about a week since they'd begun this dangerous, passionate love affair, but Charles found himself feeling more complete in those days than he had for the past few years. Laws be damned, he loved the way Erik fucked him.

Moments later, Charles felt himself nearing orgasm, and it pushed him to need more attention from Erik. Desperately, Charles reached up for Erik, who seemed to instinctively know exactly what the arms around his neck meant as he dipped down to take Charles' lips with his own. Charles' moans began to heighten as he felt the onset of an orgasm intensify slowly, and his hand fell from Erik's shoulder to take his member in hand and stroke it with hurried tugs. He needed it, needed it so badly as he moaned. Erik's breaths began to become hinted with small puffs of pleasure as he watched Charles' face twist in desperation.

Finally, _finally_ , the climax overtook him. Charles' fingers dug deeper into Erik's shoulder as his back arched and semen spilled up across his bare chest with moans of satisfaction. As he continued very delicately to stroke his sensitive member, his body shuddered, wracked by waves of pleasure. Erik bit into his shoulder, groaning into the skin from his own orgasm inside of Charles.

Charles was vaguely aware of soft kisses peppering his neck in his nearly blank state of mind. He descended from the high of orgasm, his eyes cracked open, and he realized that Erik had since moved away from the bed and into the bathroom to fetch a towel. Charles was too exhausted to move as he watched Erik return and begin to wipe the semen from his chest. "Thank you," he whispered with a faint smile.

Erik placed a gentle peck to the corner of Charles' lips. Charles used the towel to clean up the mess of cum that was leaking from him while Erik opened the nearby window to let in the cool night breeze. The towel was hurdled toward the laundry basket across the room but it tumbled instead into a pile onto the floor, and Erik grumbled something about Charles being a bad shot before collapsing back onto the bed. He drew a cigarette from a pack on the bedside table and lit the end of it, puffing at the stick momentarily as he reached for something else sitting on the table.

Charles smiled faintly as he realized it was his inhaler Erik was handing him as he breathed smoke from the opposite corner of his mouth. A quick inhale of the liquid spray was all he needed to calm the airways that he hadn't realized were so tense. Charles made a note to buy a replacement the next day as he examined the inhaler before handing it back to Erik, who placed it on the table once more.

There was a long silence between them, though it was a comfortable one. Erik's fingers were entangled with Charles' as they lay beside one another in the bed. All of Charles' attention was on Erik, watching him with admiration as he smoked his cigarette with a mind to keep the smoke away from Charles. His eyes were closed as he began to hum a soft tune that Charles did not recognize. Still, he listened as he lifted a hand up to run along the stubble of Erik's chin. The melody was putting him to sleep, and Charles curled into Erik's side under the covers as he closed his eyes, feeling at peace as he drifted into slumber.

  
  


But Charles did not awake in the same way. It took a moment for him to realize in his muddled state of mind that he was coughing because he could not breathe as he woke up in the night. Erik was sound asleep beside him, but Charles hoped that he would understand if he was awoken as Charles reached for his inhaler over him. Instinct ovetook Erik, who grabbed Charles hard as he jerked awake. When it seemed Erik realized he was in no danger, it dawned on him that Charles was in need of his inhaler, and he reached over quickly to grab it.

Charles sat up in bed as he coughed, wheezing desperately for air despite his chest feeling as though it were tightening by the second. Shaking the inhaler, he used it but no relief followed. Anxiety was beginning to grip him as he realized that his inhaler was empty of medicine. He should've known from earlier that night how little spray there was left when he'd used it. His panic-stricken eyes turned to Erik, and he held out the inhaler as he managed to croak out, "Empty."

" _Fuck_ ," Erik hissed as he looked down at the inhaler before he threw it aside in frustration. "Come here," he whispered as his arms encircled Charles, who eagerly hugged him back. The desperation to breathe was beginning to overtake him, and Charles was becoming hysterical as tears filled his eyes and blurred his vision. He hadn't been without an inhaler since he was a child, and the flashbacks of what nearly happened were causing him even more distress. "Charles." Erik's voice was firm as he took Charles' face into his hands. Charles was forced back to reality as he looked into Erik's eyes. "Listen to me. It's alright... You're going to be alright."

Charles continued to gasp for air as he leaned into Erik's chest once more, the tears spilling over as he tried to calm himself. The angle better helped him to breathe as he closed his eyes and tried to focus on Erik's voice. Charles cleared his mind of everything but Erik as he clung to his lover as if for dear life.

Several moments passed until he found himself relieved when his airways began to open back up, and Charles took deeper breaths as he relaxed against Erik's chest. Now that he was less concerned with his breathing, he was more aware of the the world around him and realized how fast Erik's heart was beating within his chest. Erik had fallen silent as his fingers threaded through Charles' chestnut locks. "I'm okay," Charles whispered as he pulled away, wiping some tears from his eyes with a sniffle.

Erik sighed in what seemed like relief as he wiped Charles' other cheek free of tears. He said nothing of it, instead lying back in bed and holding his arms out. "Come here..." Charles laid down quickly against his shoulder as Erik pulled the covers up over the both of them. His heart was still beating rapidly, but he made a point to breathe long and slow so as not to cause another attack.

Instead of falling asleep again (as it seemed Erik had not too soon after), Charles lay awake for some time worrying if he would have another asthma attack. He was unsure of what had caused the attack until he remembered that Erik had been smoking cigarettes earlier that night. He placed no blame on Erik for what had happened, instead blaming himself for not having a refill nearby for his inhaler.

Shifting slightly against Erik's side, he looked up to examine his rugged features that were illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. He couldn't help but think why? Why had Erik been so concerned for his safety? Charles had to admit that, despite the great sex they'd been having and the occasional practice fight, they didn't know each other very well. Sure, he'd done his research on the criminal beside him over the years, and Charles was sure that Erik knew things about him too, but they didn't _know_ each other. He asked himself if he would have done the same thing for Erik, and immediately the answer was _yes_. A thousand times, yes.

Very suddenly, it began to sink in that this was not just sex for either of them, no matter how much that's all that Charles wanted it to be. Erik cared for him. That'd been made obvious in the way he took care of Charles just a few moments ago during his asthma crisis, and even in the way he showed affection when they lay in bed together. Moira had never really been like that. Sure, she'd kissed him and held his hand, but when they had sex, she was distant and liked to sleep alone on her own side of the bed afterwards. Charles thought that's how everyone was until this, here and now as he lay in Erik's arms with their legs entangled.

It was painful to remember Moira, and it was painful to realize that Erik had been right about her as he thought back on their memories together. But even more painful was the fact that Charles cared for Erik too, much more than he would have liked. He might've been kidding himself about Erik's feelings for him, but he knew his own were very real. Was it because he was just lonely? If only he could discuss it with Raven... she would know what to do. But it's not as if he could simply tell his partner he was bedding a mob boss. It was a silly idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know he's gotten twitterpated very quickly. Don't worry, it's part of the story.


	9. Chapter 9

"You're seeing someone, aren't you?"

Startled, Charles looked up from the produce he'd been carelessly looking over. "W-what? No!"

"Yes, you are! Admit it!" Raven pointed an accusatory finger at him before she bent over one of the vegetable stands to pick up some carrots. "I haven't seen you act like this in years, Charles. Actually, I've never seen you this far gone since I've known you."

"I'm not _seeing_ anybody," Charles insisted as his fingers ran over some nearby apples in thought, "and I'm not acting like anything..."

Raven shot him a look and shook her head as she examined some of the potatoes nearby. "I don't believe you, but _whatever's_ happening in your life right now has you glowing. I'm just concerned because it's only been a few days and—" She paused for a moment, biting her lip as if in contemplation of her words. "I mean, you can't get attached to someone that quickly, Charles. I know you've been alone for a while, but it's not healthy."

He didn't want to listen to a word she had to say, but Raven was right. Inwardly, he cringed. He'd let Erik in to fill the emptiness within him that Moira left behind. What was he thinking? Was he just convincing himself of things that weren't true? People that were desperate not to be alone anymore had a habit of blinding themselves with lust or "love", and Charles feared he may have become one of those people.

"Charles." Raven's voice was soft as she reached forward to set a hand on his shoulder. "You're not just my partner; you're my best friend, and I don't want to see your heart break when things move too fast and end badly."

Charles would have said something in retaliation, but he knew however much he didn't want to admit it that she was right. Things would never end well in the kind of situation he was in. Charles had seen what happened to dirty cops. Either he'd be caught helping out Erik and his cronies and sent to prison, or he would fall deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole until he got himself killed, either by police or by the Brotherhood's enemies.

"You're right," he replied softly, rubbing the back of his neck in nervous habbit.

"So you _are_ seeing someone."

 _Shit_. Charles sighed as his hand dropped away. He forgot just for a moment that Raven was a detective too. "No, I'm not, it's—... it's not serious."

"Keep it that way," she said firmly, but then her tone softened as she continued, "at least for the first little while. Okay?"

Charles nodded his head as he itched at the back of his scalp. "Alright," he muttered in reply.

"Won't you at least tell me who it is?"

"No," he replied quickly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "It's nobody you know."

With a gasp, Raven picked up an onion as she asked, "Is it someone in the department?"

"Raven, don't be silly," Charles answered, trying to avoid her question. "You wouldn't know him."

"Hm," she replied as she inspected the onion and then put it in her basket. "Well, I hope he's a good guy, whoever he is."

It wasn't until they were checking out of the supermarket that Charles realized the slip he'd made in admitting the sex of his new lover, and dread began to fill him. Lord, what had he done? But as he thought about it, Charles found it odd that Raven wasn't even phased by it. Homosexuality was illegal, and he'd thought that Raven of all people would have had something to say about it. But she didn't react adversely to his admission, and he didn't dare bring it up again to ask her about it. Maybe she hadn't realized what either of them said? That couldn't be it. Raven was one of the most perceptive people he knew. It would gnaw at him for some time, but Charles didn't want to broach the subject again.

As he assisted Raven in carrying out the grocery bags to her car, he noticed a familiar black Hudson squeaking to a stop across the parking lot. No one entered or exited the vehicle for the time that he loaded the bags into the trunk of Raven's Cadillac. His suspicions were confirmed when the window was rolled down and he looked close enough to recognize the person in the driver seat as one of the people that had attended his kidnapping. Flipping through his memories very quickly, he remembered that the man's name was Azazel. The sleek black hair and the scar over his left eye was unmistakable.

Charles swallowed hard as he realized that this was his way of being summoned. Something important must have been happening, or Erik would never have risked the connection being seen in public like this, regardless of the hour.

"Charles," Raven's voice called, and he turned around, stunned as he realized she'd said his name more than once. "Are you coming?"

"Umm..." He glanced back over his shoulder at the black Hudson before turning his attention back to her. "I think I'll walk. I need to think about a few things, clear my head a bit. My apartment's not far."

She smiled at him faintly and came forward to place a kiss on his cheek. "Be careful."

Charles returned the smile and gave her a wave as he began to walk nonchalantly across the parking lot. "I will. Enjoy your dinner with Hank!"

When Raven's car disappeared around the corner, he changed his direction abruptly and headed directly for the black car. The back door popped open before he arrived, and much to his dismay, Victor Creed stepped out of the back seat. Charles stopped in his tracks, warily staring up at the man before him. He was much larger and scarier in person without a jail cell or a car seat between them. "Detective," Victor greeted, the mischievous smirk on his face as it always was—the smirk that made Charles feel uneasy every time he saw it.

"What do you want?" Charles demanded, skipping the formalities.

"Family meeting," Victor replied as he gestured to the car. "Boss wants you there."

His vision flickered quickly to the car, nervousness settling within him. Charles didn't want to sit in the back of a car with Victor Creed. The man was maybe six feet tall but his presence was enormous, making him seem as though he were twelve feet tall. Charles felt as though he would suffocate. Absent-mindedly, he pulled his inhaler from its place in his coat pocket and inhaled the mist to calm his tightening airways.

Victor stepped aside, and Charles kept his eyes on the criminal for as long as he could as he walked past him, climbing in and scooting far over as he could against the opposite door. Victor was in the car soon after, and he snapped something in what sounded like German as he shut his door. The driver, Azazel, gave him an annoyed look before he put the car into gear and began the journey to wherever they were going.

Charles was sure to stay cooped up in his own corner of the car and avoid touching Victor at all costs, as if he were afraid simply bumping knees with him would cause the man to fly into a murderous rage. He had this calm serenity and sense of humor about him that was absolutely terrifying, like what he did was fun. Charles had no doubt he found pleasure in killing people.

Charles didn't recognize the route they were taking. He was almost sure Azazel was making some unnecessary turns, and Charles couldn't tell if it's because Azazel thought they were being followed or if he didn't want Charles to know exactly where they were going. If it was to confuse Charles, it succeeded, because he was completely turned around and had no idea what direction they were headed.

Ultimately, though, he did recognize the neighborhood that they'd ended up in. It was an upper class community with nice cars and even nicer houses—most of them complete with lit-up swimming pools and built-in bars. The one house in particular that they'd pulled up through the front gate to was easily recognizable as Erik Lehnsherr's house. The exterior of the building was a mostly gray rock siding with a diluted wine-colored roof and trim. Charles had never been here in person but had seen plenty of photographs of the place to know it.

The heart within his chest began to race as the car came to a stop and Azazel and Victor exited the vehicle. Charles swallowed hard as he climbed out and adjusted his tie as he walked up the driveway behind Victor with Azazel close behind him. Vaguely he heard the sound of the front gate closing behind them as he walked in through the front door. The interior was just as lavish as the outside, with an impressive staircase, marble floors, and fancy lights. Before going very far, Charles was frisked by some unknown henchman who confiscated the gun from his holster (much to Charles' annoyance). He'd never seen the man's face, so he was either a foot soldier or a newbie—or both.

"You'll get it back, detective," Victor reassured him with a sly grin. "Don't fret." With his fingers, he gestured for Charles to follow him. "This way." Not much explanation was given other than to follow, and so Charles did. The house was large but not enough that he would be able to get lost in it. He counted 12 doors on the way, which made for a lot of bedrooms. How he wished he could live such a lavish life instead of having to settle down in a lonely, cramped apartment.

The room that they entered was packed and reminded him vaguely of the setup he'd woken up to upon being kidnapped. There was a long table in the room where many well-known members of the Brotherhood sat. A few of them even drew their guns as Charles crossed the threshold, but a booming voice that Charles recognized barked at them to put their weapons away. Through the crowd of people in the darkened room, he was able to see that Erik sat at the head of the table. Instead of his usual cigarettes, he smoked a cigar.

Charles nearly cracked a smile when they locked eyes, but Erik was quick to look away, as if he did not recognize him. Perhaps he'd looked too quickly and hadn't seen him? Charles wasn't sure, but it made him feel uneasy. A firm hand wrapped around his bicep, and Charles nearly fought the fool that had grabbed him until he realized that it was Victor. "You sit there on the right," he commanded, pointing to two empty seats at the table.

Charles mustered up his courage and walked through the many men and women standing about in the room even though he felt like he was walking through a pit of snakes, ready to strike him at any time. _On the right_ , Victor had said. Charles could still feel the grip on his arm despite Victor having let go almost immediately. There was another empty chair beside his designated spot, and Charles assumed it was reserved for Victor until the brooding man took his place behind Erik on his right side. On Erik's left stood a scantily-clad woman whose arm leaned lazily against Erik's chair.

His eyes landed on Erik, but Erik seemed adamant on avoiding eye contact or even acknowledging that Charles was there. He looked strange as he sat there, like he was an entirely different person. His face was like stone, hard and cold—not like the soft and warm Erik that Charles had become familiar within the intimacy of his bedroom with. The man that sat at the head of this table was the hardened, callous criminal that Charles had been tracking for years, the one that had threatened and scared Charles into working for him however many weeks ago. His gaze was chilling, and suddenly Charles felt like he was awakening from some dream as the reality really hit him that _Erik was a crime lord_. The intimacy from the last week of their encounters felt like some distant memory as he looked at Erik's hard expression, and it unnerved him enough that he had to look away.

"Alright," Erik began, taking a drink from the amber liquid in the glass before him. "As you gents—and ladies—know, we've had some trouble with importing cigarettes." The cigar was placed between his teeth, and he puffed on it a moment before exhaling the smoke. "Our associate, Mr. Singer, has been putting us in a bind while he worries about the FBI looking into his business. That, in turn, is hurting our business. Havoc... Please tell me you and your soldiers can have a word with some of our associates causing us trouble."

"Yes sir." Charles recognized the blonde boy that spoke up as the one that Erik had originally asked Charles to look into as his first case with the Brotherhood. Relief washed over him as he realized that they boy was not dead, but then he began to wonder if he should be relieved that Alex Summers had been recruited into the ranks of the Brotherhood. "I think we can have a... nice, calm business discussion."

There were menacing scattered chuckles throughout the room, as if he'd just told some inside joke—but instead of amusement, Charles felt goosebumps crawl across his skin. He didn't belong here, not with all these people. Anxiety was beginning to grip at his throat, but Charles quickly grabbed for his inhaler and made use of it to calm himself down.

"Hey boss, who's the _new guy?"_ someone from across the room asked. Charles couldn't tell who'd asked, but when all eyes turned to him, he could only assume the man had meant him.

"This is Detective Xavier. He's our newest connection in the P.D. The last one didn't do us much good and, well... you all know what happened to him." More laughter that turned Charles' stomach, and he wanted to sink so far into his chair that he melted to the floor and disappeared. Even Erik's voice sounded different—lower, huskier than usual. It would have been sexy if Charles wasn't on such high alert at the moment. His senses were working overtime trying to be aware of every person in the room, but he was having some difficulty with it because of the amount of people around him. "He'll be a regular attendee to our little family meetings. Needs to be caught up on the know-how of how we do business."

"Hey, Xavier... I know that name," a voice from the darkened crowd called out. "Wasn't he the one was lookin' into Brotherhood cases? Got some of us arrested?"

Charles suddenly became embarrassed at the thought that he did know some of the people in the room very well, mostly because he'd arrested a good number of them. He was afraid that there might an uproar but was surprised when there was an unexpected interruption. "Was that you asking questions?" Victor asked suddenly, pointing at one of the men in the crowd. The people parted for him as he made his way to the accused and grabbed him by the throat. "I said, was that you asking the boss questions?" The man let out a choked gargle as he was lifted off the ground with ease by the throat. Charles felt his hair stand on end, and it felt as though hot ice pricked into his skin as he watched on in horror. "If he's sitting at the table, I think it's clear the boss trusts him enough not to be running his mouth. Should we trust you not to run yours?" It was a moment later that the man was dropped to crumple in a coughing heap on the ground, and Victor returned to his spot beside Erik once more.

"Thank you, Victor," he said with a delightful little smile on his face. "As I was saying... He'll be running some interference for us with the coppers and helping cover up crime scenes—the usual. I'd just like to remind you all that even though he is a good detective, that does _not_ mean that you now have my permission to get sloppy. You know the rules. Hits are clean and simple. Don't leave poor little Charles here with a big mess to clean up." His eyes shifted to Charles momentarily, and Erik winked before he turned to the woman standing beside him and asked in the sweetest voice for more scotch. They shared a very intimate kiss that sent Charles reeling, as if he were going to become sick at any moment. Jealousy burned deep inside of him, but he began to bury that fire quickly with his common sense.

Erik went on to discuss a few more things with the Brotherhood members standing around him, but Charles became lost in his thoughts as he gazed at his own fingers resting on the table. He felt like he was in a trance, a strange dream that he couldn't wake up from as he half-heartedly listened to the Brotherhood discuss different matters. Raven was right. Because of his loneliness, he'd gotten attached much too quickly. There were no mutual feelings between them. Charles knew that now, and he knew now that he really didn't know Erik Lehnsherr at all. He was not Erik's Juliet, but he supposed that meant he was Rosaline and that he survived the fucking play. At least he had that going for him.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may revise some small parts of this chapter for wording in the future but here you are. Enjoy.

The office was quieter than usual with a few of the officers gone for the upcoming holidays, but Charles found himself distracted by the faintest sounds. Squeaking chairs, phones ringing, papers rustling... It was so hard to focus on writing the report before him that he heaved a sigh and leaned back into his seat with a yawn, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He'd barely slept last night. That wasn't exactly something new for him, but he hadn't been affected like this by his insomnia in a long time. It'd been part of his schedule for so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like actually be actually tired. The sleep he'd been getting at night lately had ruined late nights for him.

The Brotherhood meeting he'd attended the previous night had changed everything for him. The way Erik regarded him as nothing more than a connection to the police department—a maid to clean up their messes—and the way he'd exchanged saliva with that woman... It made his jaw clench thinking about it as he tapped the eraser of his pencil against the wood of his desk.

Charles tried to come up with a reason for Erik's behavior, but he could think of none. It was impossible to rationalize this, which brought him to only one conclusion: he'd been played. That's what Erik was showing him last night. It had to be. All he'd been doing in Charles' bed was getting off and making sure that their newest servant in the police station stayed loyal. Well, Charles wasn't going to be some janitor that cleaned up after the lot of them.

But did he have a choice not to?

Charles glanced over at the desk adjacent to his where Raven had been bent over an open file before her for some time as she read intently, flipping back and forth between the pages. Guilt filled him for wanting to break free of the Brotherhood and just stop the madness he'd sprung upon himself. Raven was his best friend, the only person in the world who understood him, and he didn't want to put her in any danger.

And then there was Logan, who walked by at that moment sipping a cup of coffee as he read a newspaper. His eyebrows lifted at Charles in a way of greeting, and Charles offered him a faint smile before his eyes drifted downward once more. They weren't close. Hell, Charles barely knew anything about him, but there was no denying they shared a mutual feeling of friendship. Charles trusted him, and Logan had shown his trust in Charles many times over in the past few years.

This was all such a mess. Sometimes he wished things could go back to the way they were before his kidnapping, regardless of how cold the cases were. He didn't want to see Erik anymore. It would be much too painful now that he knew what he'd gotten himself into. The problem there was that Erik had a knack for entering Charles' apartment without the need of a key. What a terrible feeling, that his own home wasn't even safe anymore to go to. He sighed at the thought of Erik making coffee in his kitchen at that moment as he waited for Charles to come home.

" _Charles._ " Raven's voice made him jump out of a sleepy daze he hadn't realized he'd been in, and he turned to see her sitting on the edge of his desk. He hadn't even heard her come over. "... You look tired."

Charles laughed softly and rubbed one of his eyes. "I am," he replied as he leaned back into his chair with a yawn.

"Why don't you head home?" she asked, lifting her hand to run her fingernails through his hair, which he found to make him even more tired. "You should get some sleep."

He wanted to fight her about it because the last thing he wanted to do was go home, but he honestly hadn't the energy. All he could do in response was nod. Perhaps he could stay in a hotel that night instead. He could avoid the chance of seeing Erik at least for tonight if he did.

"I'd drive you but I have to finish this report or it'll be the end of me. Be careful out there," she warned as she pushed off the desk, wandering toward her own. "The roads could be icy."

Charles nodded as he picked up his coat. "It's alright... I'll see you tomorrow." He gave a small wave to Logan, who returned the gesture as he watched Charles head to the door over the brim of his coffee cup. The material of Charles' coat was tightened around himself as he looked out at the light snowfall through the glass, dreading the cold winter air that he would have to face. He took a preemptive puff of his inhaler and, with arms crossed against his chest, he hurried over to the police parking lot.

Charles was quite relieved to see his car sitting there in the lot, wheels and all, but he was even more relieved that he wouldn't have to ride around with Victor as his chauffeur anymore. Under the parking lot light, Charles took a suspicious look at all of the hubcaps to make sure that all of the nuts and bolts were in place. He didn't think the Brotherhood would pull the same dirty trick (he wasn't sure they'd need a reason) but there was no harm in checking.

A voice calling out from down the street a block or two drew Charles' attention, and he turned to look at the person that approached quickly. The man looked winded, as though he'd been running for some time. He wore no coat and slipped in the slush on the street, nearly falling upon the snowy pavement. Suspicion was the first thing Charles felt as he reached up to absent-mindedly adjust the shoulder strap of his gun, but as the man drew closer, Charles could tell he looked quite distressed. His breath was visible as he hurried along, gasping for air. "My—my wife—she's—"

"Is everything alright, sir?" Charles called, his eyebrows knitting together as the man drew closer from the darkened street.

"My wife is gone... Please, I can't find my wife!" Charles found himself struck by the grief in his voice, and he softened almost immediately as the man began to sob. "Please, sir, you have to help me!" He grabbed onto Charles' coat in desperation, his teary eyes wide.

"Alright, alright... Come on, let's get you into the station and get a report filled out."

"Thank you... Thank you," the man uttered, his teeth chattering as they moved slowly at the man's pace who was quite out of breath. "Are you a detective, sir?"

"I am, and I work with some of the best detectives I've ever known. I'm sure they'll help you find your wife, sir."

"I... I can't thank you enough for helping me, detective," the man responded as he shivered, rubbing his arms. "What's your name?"

"Detective Xavier," he replied, turning to offer a smile to the man.

" _Perfect._ "

Charles didn't even get a chance to see the gun before a deafening explosion filled his ears with ringing. He was knocked backwards by the force of the bullet into a nearby vehicle, gasping for air as he slid down the side of the car with his fingers clutching the wound. Blood had spattered across the snowy pavement that the stranger was now sprinting across, disappearing into the night. Only after he crumpled to the ground did the pain tear through him like a white-hot fire as he screamed.

In a panic, Charles pulled his coat apart to look at where dark, heavy blood was now spreading through the material of his shirt. He tried to cry out for help but the only sound that left his lips was a pained whimper as he writhed in pain, his trembling fingers unsure of how to stop the bleeding in his shocked state.

"It came from over there!" a distant voice called, familiar but foreign all the same. He couldn't identify who'd said it. His mind was blank, only filled with the pain that tore angrily within him.

The world was beginning to grow dark as Charles' breath quickened. He couldn't keep his eyes open as he shivered, clutching at where the intense pain was burning him. He was on fire from the inside as he cried out in agony.

"Over here!" a voice called, startling him back into consciousness. He couldn't see the face of the dark figure that descended over him, taking him into their arms like an angel. Charles groaned in pain as the person moved his hands to inspect the wound. " _Call an ambulance!_ Charles's been shot!" There were other voices nearby, but Charles could not make them out.

His hand reached out to grab the shirt of the person above him as Charles whimpered, his lip trembling as he sobbed. Could it be Erik? He was having trouble thinking clearly with his blurred vision and his mind in a state of shock. He was so frightened. Was he going to die? Where was Erik? He felt himself slipping into the darkness again with a groan as his fingers tightened into the male's shirt.

"It's okay, Charles. I've got you."

"Erik," Charles whispered, as his teary eyes fell closed and his fingers loosened from the man's collar, falling into the bloodstained snow beside him.

"... I've got you..."

 

-

 

The first thing that Charles could hear was the muddled ring of a phone as his brow furrowed. Had he fallen asleep at his desk again? No, he couldn't have. He was lying down... Had he slipped and fallen on the floor of the precinct? He couldn't remember. His eyes cracked open to a bright light and he closed them again, giving them a rub before he tried to look around once more. He was lying in a rather high bed with white sheets. Across the unfamiliar room was a vanity, and beside him he could see a bedside table with a vase of flowers. There was a lounge chair in the room but it was empty. Outside the cracked door, he heard heels clicking on a hard floor and watched a nurse stroll by with a clipboard in hand while two women had a hushed discussion nearby in the hallway.

As he tried to sit up, Charles cried out in pain and very quickly fell back against his pillow, setting a hand against his stomach. Lifting the white shirt he wore, he stared at the bandage across his abdomen, slowly recalling with dread the night that he'd been shot. Was it last night? A few nights ago? How long had he been asleep? The memories began to come back to him of the stranger and the snow and the blood... He couldn't remember the man's face, but he remembered his voice as clear as day.

 _Perfect_.

He shuddered slightly from the chill it gave him to remember the word uttered as he straightened his shirt and settled back into the bed.

Charles could hardly believe he'd been shot point-blank and survived. His memory was foggy of what followed, other than someone coming to his side afterwards. Charles' eyes wandered to the empty chair in the room, and he felt somewhat pained that no one had been sitting in it, waiting for him to wake up. But of course... people had their own lives to lead. He had no right to expect that of someone.

His gaze shifted to the window where the snow fell in beautiful flakes as he began to list some questions that he would need to get answers to. Who was the man that shot him? Had they found him? The attack was clearly premeditated and his target had been Charles, but why? Surely this wasn't done by the Brotherhood...? Not after the meeting. No, Erik would have sent Victor to do the job, and he would be dead. So who wanted Charles dead or injured and why?

His thoughts were interrupted when the door squeaked upon swinging open, and Charles was surprised to see Logan standing there, who seemed just as surprised himself. Charles began to push himself up out of the bed when the pain tore through him once more and he winced. "Logan," he greeted, offering his friend a pained smile as he settled back into the bed.

"Hey," Logan greeted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip as he closed the door. "Didn't expect to see you awake just yet."

"Me neither," Charles replied, lifting his eyebrows momentarily.

"I just... came by to check on you and see how you're feeling." Logan seemed hesitant as he stepped into the room.

Charles smiled. "Well, I'd imagine this is what it feels like to be shot."

With a laugh, Logan continued forward and stopped a few feet from the bed. "Doctors said the bullet missed all your vital organs so... You should be fine in a month or two."

Charles' eyes drifted downward, becoming distant upon hearing this. He'd forgotten how long bullet wounds took to heal, which meant that he would be out of work for some time, with the station and with the Brotherhood. With the anxiousness beginning to grip him, Charles could feel his throat beginning to tighten up and began to look around for his inhaler. Finding it on the bedside table, Charles reached out with a faint groan of pain but accidentally knocked it off the edge with his clumsy fingers as he coughed, frustrated.

Logan came forward quickly and picked it up off the floor, holding it out for Charles who accepted the inhaler gratefully and took a deep breath of its contents. "Don't worry... We'll still consult you on cases, if you're worried about work."

Glancing up, Charles met Logan's gaze and half-heartedly returned his attempt at a comforting smile. "Thank you..."

With a nod, Logan's hands tucked into his pockets as he hesitated to speak again. "We.. have some leads on the shooter but there's no suspects yet. You know the drill... We'll need you to sit down with the sketch artists and give them a description of what you remember."

Charles sighed softly. "I... don't remember much, if I'm being honest. But I'll do what I can." He smiled up at Logan. "Thank you for coming to visit me. I didn't expect you."

Logan nodded, seeming embarrassed as he turned to leave when he suddenly came to a stop with his hand upon the door knob. Curious, Charles' brow furrowed as he opened his mouth to ask if something was wrong, but Logan was the one who broke the silence. "Charles... Who is Erik?"

A chill waved across his skin as he stared at the back of Logan's head, his mouth hanging open without any response. He had never felt so blindsided by a question before as his mind raced, looking for an explanation to give as his heart pounded within his chest. "He's... nobody you know. Why are you asking?" he questioned, cringing slightly.

"You called out his name when I found you," Logan responded, turning to look at Charles over his shoulder. "That wouldn't happen to be... Erik _Lehnsherr_ , would it?" Logan faced him now. The expression he wore was unreadable, though if Charles had to guess, he seemed as though he were displeased.

Charles was dumbfounded for a moment but he tried to feign a laugh. How was he going to get out of this? "No, Logan. What would make you think—?"

"I saw you," he interrupted with a hiss, his brow furrowing as he scowled. "I saw you with _Victor._ "

Speechless, all that Charles could do was stare. His lip began to quiver as his eyes dropped away, and he swallowed hard. "It's... it's not what you think." Charles hated that the words came out in a trembling whisper instead of the confident front he'd attempted to put out as every moment he'd spent with Erik ran through his mind. He knew this had been a mistake from the beginning as regret pooled within his sinking gut.

"What is it, then?" Logan demanded as he stepped forward, trying to keep his voice down. "What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed, Charles?!" He pointed at the bandaged wound in Charles' abdomen as a reminder of what had happened.

" _No!_ I'm just..." Charles released a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't look Logan in the eye. The betrayal in his gaze twisted Charles' heart within his chest in a way that he could barely stand. He sat up out of the bed despite the pain it put him through, groaning softly. "Logan, please, you just have to trust me," he begged, his hands clutching the blanket that lay over him. "You can't say a word of this to anyone, not even Raven. You have to trust me..." His eyebrows knit together as he looked up at Logan nervously. "For all our sakes."

Logan huffed a frustrated breath through his nose, his gaze turning away as he shook his head. He remained there for a moment in silent thought. "The last thing I want to do is put you behind bars, Charles." His arms dropped away, and Logan turned to open the door with one last glance at Charles as he muttered, "I hope you know what you're doing."

The door slammed shut behind him, and Charles released a heavy sigh as he leaned back into the bed with an arm draped over his eyes.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

 


End file.
